


haven't you ever fallen down at christmas

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Ficmas, Advent Calendar, Christmas, Holidays, M/M, One Shot Collection, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:14:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 25,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: Unconnected ficlets and drabbles written for the 31 days of ineffable advent calendar on tumblrtitle from Frank O'Hara's Aus Einem Aprilchapters tagged individually
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 882
Kudos: 450
Collections: Bittersweet Good Omens





	1. Index

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please reference the below for individual chapter tags (also listed in chapter notes). All stories take place during the Christmas Season and default rating is T unless otherwise noted. Bolded chapters are the continued story interspersed throughout the collection.  
> Other notes:  
> *= personal favorites

1\. [Mistletoe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51568555#workskin): outsider POV, fluff, first kiss  
2\. [**Snow**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51569731#workskin): break up AU, angst, continued in Choir  
3\. [Nutcracke](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51569932#workskin)r*: E, historical omens, angst, angry sex  
4\. [Cranberries](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51590800#workskin): Reverse Stardew Omens, fluff, continued in Wrapping Paper  
5\. [Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51590896#workskin): E, angst, Green Things Universe  
6\. [Sleigh Bells](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51590920#workskin): Book Omens, established relationship, fluff  
7\. [Silent Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51590968#workskin): E, historical omens, friends with benefits, angst, pining, continued in Cider and Caroling  
8\. [**Choir**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51599491#workskin): continuation of Snow, break up AU, angst, reconciliation, continued in Laughter  
9\. [Chestnuts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51599524#workskin): first kiss, fluff, humor  
10\. [Silver and Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51599533#workskin): pining, minor angst, first kiss  
11\. [Pine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51599554#workskin): established relationship, fluff  
12\. [Caroling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51599572#workskin)*: E, continuation of Cider, friends with benefits, pining, angst, hate sex, continued in Never Mine to Own (to be collected into single fic)  
13\. [Wrapping Paper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51599614#workskin): Reverse Stardew Omens, kid fic, fluff  
14\. [Eggnog](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51810982#workskin): established relationship, minor angst, fluff  
15\. [**Laughter**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51810994#workskin): continuation of Choir, break up AU, angst, reconciliation, continued in Wish  
16\. [Ice Storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51811009#workskin)*: fae!Crowley, human!Aziraphale, fluff, continued in Gift  
17: [Ornament](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971371#workskin): humor, miscommunication, established relationship  
18:[ Cookies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971377#workskin)*: first kiss, pining  
19\. [**Wish**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971389#workskin): continuation of Laughter, break up AU, angst, reconciliation, to be continued in Warmth  
20\. [Reindeer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971404#workskin): human au, fluff, meet cute, hallmark movie (to be continued in another fic)  
21\. [Gift](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971416#workskin): continuation of Ice Storm (to be continued in another fic)  
22.[ **Warmth**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971422#workskin): continuation of Wish, break up AU, angst, continued in Love  
23\. [Ghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971443#workskin)*: Spirits AU, Poltergeist!Crowley, Guardian Angel!Aziraphale  
24\. [Holiday Card](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971449#workskin): love confessions, fluff  
25\. [**Love**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971452#workskin): continuation of Warmth, break up AU, angst, continued in Resolution   
26\. [Cider](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971467#workskin): E, continuation of Silent Night, followed by Caroling and Never Mine to Own, angst, pining  
27\. [Champagne](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971482#workskin): fluff, established relationship  
28\. [Snowball](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971488): continuation of Wrapping Paper, Reverse Stardew Omens, kid fic  
29\. [Glitter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971500#workskin): book omens, fluff  
30.[ **Resolution**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971515#workskin): continuation of Warmth, break up AU, angst, continued in Auld Lang Syne  
31\. [**Auld Lang Syne**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971524#workskin): continuation of Resolution, break up AU

Note: I will be adding links within connected chapters for ease of reading once fic is complete


	2. Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> individual chapter tags: christmas party, outsider pov, dubcon kissing inasmuch as mistletoe is dubcon, drinking

Tracy loves hosting Christmas parties. She loves them because she gets to make little almond cookies and wrap tiny presents for all her guests. She loves them because she gets to spike the punch with an unholy amount of booze and watch all her guests get far too drunk.

She’s a holiday party sort of person, Madame Tracy.

Though, technically, she’s hung up the Madame title for good.

Mr. Shadwell comes over early and begrudgingly helps her set up for the party, opening up her fold away table and setting out the snack plates. Eventually, Shadwell’s little apprentice Newt shows up with his nice young girlfriend who is far too pretty for him. Not that Tracy would say that to him. They seem very happy and that’s good enough for her.

Tracy’s other favorite thing about hosting a Christmas party is the two sprigs of mistletoe she hangs in her flat. One in the hallway by the loo and the other in the kitchen. The two most likely places where people will congregate.

Tracy finds that a little kissing always livens things up a bit.

She’s invited everyone who lives in her building and a few old clients from the still thriving clairvoyant side of her practice and by the time 8 o’clock rolls around, her flat is lively and full of people munching on pretzels and drinking cranberry punch that’s steadily becoming more vodka than cranberry.

She’s chatting happily with young miss Anathema when she feels a very familiar presence at her shoulder and she turns, already smiling. “Mr. Aziraphale,” she says, reaching out and pulling him into a hug.

He makes a surprised noise but returns the hug delicately. She can feel some of his glowing spirit at this distance and it reminds her of why she invited him in the first place. “Oh, love, I’m so glad you came.”

“I was quite surprised to receive the invitation, but, you know, it seemed the time of year to reunite with old friends,” he said with a kind smile before turning to look behind him.

As expected, the thin man from the airbase, all in black, saunters up behind him, just a touch too close and says, “Angel, you said this would be a small shindig.”

Tracy wraps her hand around her cup. She remembers how her body had reacted when Aziraphale had been inside it and they had seen this man for the first time. It makes her stomach squirm in anticipation just thinking about it.

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll thin out,” she says reassuringly even though it’s a lie. Whenever she has these parties, more and more people inevitably show up. People who weren’t even invited. It’s why she makes extra cookies and wraps extra little gifts. And buys extra vodka.

The thin man—Crowley, she thinks—looks at her dubiously, an expression she can read even though his eyes are covered by big reflective sunglasses. 

“Enjoy yourselves,” she says magnanimously. “There’s punch on the table.”

The two of them wander off and she calls after, “Oh, and don’t forget to take a gift with you before you go.”

Crowley gives her a little acknowledging wave before trailing after Aziraphale. Those are two people who desperately need to shag if she’s ever seen it.

She turns back to Anathema who has developed a cute little crease between her eyebrows. “Was that those men from the airbase? The angel and the demon?”

Tracy nods. “I thought perhaps we should keep in touch. Handy sort of friends to have, don’t you think?”

Anathema nods thoughtfully as she stares after them. 

The night devolves the way the best parties do. Shadwell challenges Newt to a drinking contest and some people Tracy doesn’t recognize try to join them, giving up after a third shot. Eventually, Anathema coaxes Newt down and he bows out, much to Shadwell’s pleasure.

Tracy goes into the kitchen to grab the third litre of vodka she has stashed under the kitchen sink. There are a few neighbors milling about as well as Aziraphale and his young man. 

Mr. Crowley is clearly drunk, gesticulating with a cup as he argues about something with Aziraphale. It doesn’t seem to be a real argument so Tracy ignores them.

Or she would if they weren’t standing directly in front of the sink.

Which besides holding her vodka is also under her tactically placed mistletoe.

“Yoohoo,” she says, coming up to them and waggling her fingers. Aziraphale looks at her and she realizes he might be a bit drunk too. She feels a flash of pride at that. An angel and a demon, drunk at her Christmas party!

She points up to the ceiling and Aziraphale tips his head back before looking at her with comically wide eyes.

“Tradition, boys,” she says in her most chiding voice. 

The demon’s sunglasses have slipped down his nose and even though Tracy has seen his eyes before they still shock her. 

Aziraphale looks at his feet. “Well, tradition.”

“Yeah, tradition,” Crowley says, licking his lips.

Tracy really should look away but she’s a woman of a certain age who used to be in a certain line of work so she has what she’d like to call professional curiosity.

Aziraphale rises up on his toes and brushes their mouths together. It lingers for a bit too long for a friendly mistletoe kiss and Tracy thinks both of them know it.

Anathema bursts into the kitchen and the two pull away from each other. She looks at Tracy and says, “I need some water for Newt.”

“Ah, right, yes,” Aziraphale says, tugging at his waistcoat and stepping away from the sink. "I suppose that means you need...right.”

Aziraphale bustles out of the kitchen and Mr. Crowley stares after him for a moment before draining his cup and murmuring, “Fuck.”

He disappears through the door, following after the angel.

“I guess that’s what prophecy 286 meant,” Anathema says, half to herself as she turns on the tap.

“What’s that, dear?”

“Oh just: _the angel on yuletide eve shalle kiss the serpent_ ,” Anathema says. “We thought it was one of the weird ones. Or something about Christmas decorations.”

Tracy laughs a little. What a strange young lady.


	3. Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> individual chapter tags: General Audiences, break up, depression, post-apocalypse, angst

Crowley stares out the window at the falling snow. He hates it. It’s during winter that he hates his floor to ceiling windows, the cold unforgiving stone of his flat, the way it grows dark and gray and refuses to warm.

He hates how the cold settles in his bones. A half-starved desperate feeling like no matter how tight he wraps himself up he’ll always be in this hungry skin, prone to cold, prone to ache. 

He tucks his legs under himself and summons another blanket to dig his toes into. It does little to ease the ache in him. 

What does these days.

He thinks about making a drink, about summoning a bottle of whiskey - the bad kind, so cheap that it burns like a matchstick as it goes down - getting drunk and maybe forgetting for a minute about the cold. 

When it’s cold like this he thinks of Aziraphale.

He thinks of his snow white hair. How he can warm a room with a smile. How he could always warm Crowley just by being near.

But that was years ago, a lifetime it felt like.

What were those things Crowley had said?

If you loved me you’d understand? 

_Of course I love you but that has nothing to do with this._

_It was an accident. I can't be held responsible because some human bollocksed up a perfectly safe-_

_Someone_ died, _Crowley_. 

_It's not my fault!_

_Yes it is!_

And Aziraphale had disappeared. Like so many things.

Like the warmth. Like the memory of Aziraphale in his bed. Of coiling loosely on the low sofa in the back of the bookshop while Aziraphale worked, being woken by a soft, loving hand on his head.

It’s all gone now.

Forcing himself to stand he goes into the foyer to water his plants. He used to have so many but in the years since Aziraphale left, he’d let more and more of them die. Now there are only three. The hearty ones.

They’ll die too, soon enough.

The snow is covering up the skylights, muffling the room, cutting off the light. He sprays the plants down like he does every day but doesn’t have the energy to yell at them. That’s how they died in the first place. When he stopped yelling.

Turns out fear can keep you alive.

**

[Next Chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51599491#workskin)


	4. Nutcracker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags for this chapter: Explicit, explicit sexual content, 1934, ballet, angry sex (i'd call it hate sex but dang they're so in love), semi-public sex, female presenting Crowley (using he/him pronouns), tv canon adjacent (post holy water), angst
> 
> semi historically inaccurate as the nutcracker didn't really get popular until later but it DID show in England in 1934 for the first time
> 
> also! these oneshots are entirely unrelated (as of now). sorry if that wasn't clear! sending love to everyone reading this!

**1934**

Aziraphale took his seat next to Jonathan and folded his hands in his lap. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the ballet per se. It was simply less enjoyable than say...opera.

Or anything else.

Jonathan leaned in and said in a low voice, "I hear Markova is brilliant in this."

Aziraphale nodded like he had any idea what that meant. This show was some import from Russia. Something about nutcrackers and fairies. Not exactly Aziraphale's preferred entertainment for a given evening even if it _was_ supposed to celebrate the Christmas season.

Jonathan's wife appeared at the door to their reserved box and gave Aziraphale a little wave. Behind her another woman appeared out of the shadows and Aziraphale had to bite his lip to suppress a gasp.

Miriam approached the row and said, "Sorry I'm late. Aziraphale, I don't think you've met my dear friend Miss Crowley."

Of course it was Crowley. It was always Crowley. Crowley emerging from the shadows with his golden eyes hidden under dark lenses and draped all in black like some villain from the pictures. His hair was done in soft waves that barely kissed his shoulders, and he was bedecked in a low cut evening gown, nipping in at the waist and flowing nearly to the floor. 

Of course.

"I haven't had the pleasure," Aziraphale said, standing so Miriam could move past him and sit next to her husband. Crowley sauntered up to their chairs and shook Aziraphale's hand. He was wearing elbow length black satin gloves that felt delicious under Aziraphale's fingers. 

Crowley slipped into the seat between Aziraphale and Miriam and said in a breathy voice, "Tell me about this Nutcracker."

Jonathan leaned in and said, "It's supposed to be quite the sensation. Just in from Russia."

The house lights blinked once and the milling audience began to take their seats. The lights blinked again.

The music began to play and Aziraphale tried to relax into his seat. A difficult venture with Crowley so near. When had they last seen each other? Aziraphale was fairly certain it had been in passing some time during the Great War. It didn't matter. It wasn't as if they were on speaking terms. But Aziraphale could be polite. It was just one evening.

The ballet was magnificently boring, but the music was good so Aziraphale allowed himself to drift a little and enjoy the rising strings.

"Interested in ballet now, are we?" Crowley asked, voice a hiss in Aziraphale's ear. 

He nearly jumped out of his seat. Sinking his fingers into his thigh to focus on something besides the heat of Crowley's body so close to his own, Aziraphale directed his gaze to the stage and stalwartly ignored him.

"See, last I remember, you hated the stuff. Called it drivel, I believe," Crowley drawled, each word sending goosebumps down Aziraphale's spine.

"I'm here on assignment, if you must know," Aziraphale said in a harsh whisper before turning his attention back to the show.

"Ah, same here," Crowley replied before leaning back in his seat, relaxed as anything. It made something dark rise in Aziraphale's gut. How dare he be so casual about this? Acting like they were friends. Like nothing happened and that Crowley hadn't tried to use him for his own ends. 

The longer the ballet drew on, the angrier Aziraphale got. When the lights came up for intermission, he was out of his seat and making his excuses to Jonathan before rushing out of the theater to get his coat and leave. He didn't want to be in the same room as Crowley. He wanted to go home and make a nice hot cocoa with plenty of whiskey and get on with his work. He could do his blessings on Jonathan later. It didn't need to be here.

Aziraphale was waiting for his coat to be returned to him when Crowley drew up beside him. "Where are you rushing off to, angel?"

The endearment - or epithet or whatever you wanted to call it - was the last straw. Pulling himself up to his full height, and with every ounce of angelic rage he possessed, Aziraphale said, "Don't follow me out here as if you care. You made it clear what you think about our relationship and I won't have you pretending otherwise."

Crowley's eyebrows shot up his forehead as his mouth twisted cruelly and Aziraphale found himself abruptly grabbed by the collar, shoved into the coat check closet as the attendant promptly found himself needed elsewhere.

"Unhand me," Aziraphale said, slapping at Crowley wrist. The door slammed shut.

The demon held fast and said, "And what, exactly, did _I_ make clear about our relationship? I wasn't the one that stormed off."

"You tried to _use_ me," Aziraphale spat and with Crowley's hand wrapped tightly in his shirt and Crowley's mouth barely inches away from his, he began to feel like he was losing control of the situation.

"Is that right?" Crowley sneered, his red lipstick emphasizing the harsh curl of his mouth

"I'm not an idiot, Crowley," Aziraphale said. He found himself breathless for some awful reason.

"Yes you fucking are," Crowley hissed before crushing their mouths together.

Aziraphale froze but the press of Crowley's tongue against his had him yanking Crowley's hand from his shirt and pushing the demon back between the hanging coats until they crashed into the nearest wall. Crowley tore his mouth away and hissed, "The biggest bloody idiot."

"Stop talking," Aziraphale said, that red, rising anger from before cresting even higher as he grew hard in his trousers and heat curled in his belly. 

"With pleasure," Crowley replied, sinking his hands into Aziraphale's hair and pulling him back into another kiss that lacked any of the violence of their first. Aziraphale couldn't have that. This couldn't be tender. This was a _fight_.

Slamming his knee between Crowley's legs, Aziraphale yanked up his satin skirt and grasped at the hardness he found beneath it. Crowley gasped into his mouth. And in that moment Aziraphale felt powerful, more powerful than he'd felt with a flaming sword in his hand, and certainly more powerful than he'd felt on a sunny day in St. James staring at a terrifying piece of parchment.

"Let me touch you," Crowley said, hands ghosting over Aziraphale's belly trying to undo his braces. Crowley's tender kiss flashed through his mind. He imagined Crowley's hands on him, soft and edging into something awful like care and love. Crowley falling to his knees and taking Aziraphale into his red mouth so he could worship him. Aziraphale couldn't have that.

"No," Aziraphale said, bracing one arm over Crowley's chest to hold him in place as his used his other hand to stroke him slowly. Crowley struggled against the pressure but Aziraphale was stronger than him - he'd always been stronger than him - and managed to hold him in place.

Watching Crowley come undone was beautiful, glorious. The way his cheeks turned pink and his mouth dropped open, yellow eyes closed as he gasped, thrusting up in Aziraphale's fist. 

"Fuck, Aziraphale, I'm -" Crowley gasped as his hips stuttered, cock pulsing hot over Aziraphale's hand.

Still hard in his trousers, Aziraphale stepped back even as Crowley reached for him. He miracled the semen from his hand.

They stared at each other.

The haze of his anger was starting to fade and Aziraphale -

Crowley pulled away from the wall and let his dress fall back to the floor. His lipstick was smeared over his chin and Aziraphale was certain he didn't look any better.

Pushing his sunglasses up his nose, Crowley tilted his chin up defiantly, cheeks still pink and chest still rising and falling rapidly. He was angry.

 _Good_ , Aziraphale thought viciously. That made two of them.

"Best wipe off that lipstick, Aziraphale. People will talk," he said coolly, passing a hand over his mouth and fixing his own lipstick with a thought.

Crowley turned and snapped his fingers, the coat check door swinging open as he sauntered through it. 

Aziraphale watched him leave as the house lights blinked once. Twice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can reblog it [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189452431719/day-three-nutcracker) if you like


	5. Cranberries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> individual chapter tags: rated t, farming au, reverse stardew omens (if you're reading Atalan's stardew omens this is...reverse of that), past alcoholism, human au

It's Aziraphale's first winter in Pelican Town and he's never been more glad that he moved there. The town grows even quainter during the holiday season and snow is likely to be falling nearly every day. Back in the city it was never like that. The holidays were festive but corporate and Aziraphale hadn't really felt the joy of the season for years.

But now, with the Festival of the Winter Star nearly upon him, Aziraphale is all aflutter trying to put together gifts for his neighbors. He's been saving things from the farm all year so he can make food and wine to share with the town. He hopes they like them. After all, he is new in town and he doesn't want to be presumptuous or make anyone feel they owe him a gift. But he truly doesn't have any expectations! He just wants to give something to these people who have been so welcoming. He doesn't need anything in return.

He gives Abigail's family a blueberry pie that has her mother begging for the recipe. It's an old family one that he's more than willing to share. Robin and her bunch get several jars of honey and jam. He knows Maru and her father are partial to strawberry to he makes sure to include several of those. 

All of his neighbors are appropriately thankful. Even Linus, who can be a bit prickly, thanks him for the cactus fruit jam. For the most part, every single one of his gifts hits their mark and he's very proud of himself.

That is until he tries to give Marnie a bottle of cranberry wine.

Marnie is a kind soul. She helped him start working with animals. Taught him how to milk a cow and how to make a chicken like you - they're tricky buggers - but when he tries to give her the wine, she waves him off.

"We don't - we don't drink in the house," Marnie says with a quick look at the staircase. "After Anthony came back from rehab...well, we're trying to support him."

Aziraphale wants to kick himself. He knew about Anthony Crowley, Marnie's nephew. And he knew how he had left Pelican Town to get help for his addiction. That he had just come back in time for the holidays. Aziraphale had never met the man and it was absolutely thoughtless for Aziraphale to bring Marnie's family wine of all things.

"Marnie, are you making the new farmer man uncomfortable?" a voice drawls from the doorway to the kitchen.

Aziraphale turns to look at the source of the voice and freezes. The man in the doorway immediately reminds Aziraphale that, despite his rather sexless existence in Pelican Town, his libido is still working just fine. The man is rail thin, dressed mostly in black, a red t-shirt the only splash of color under a shrugged on and rumpled black button down. He's wearing sunglasses and Aziraphale thinks wildly that if he could see his eyes, he'd be done for.

"I'm Anthony Crowley," the man says, stepping forward and reaching out to shake Aziraphale's hand. Without thinking, Aziraphale takes it and tries to suppress a wince when he remembers how calloused and unkempt his hands must feel.

Anthony doesn't seem to notice, just gives him a sharp smile before turning back to Marnie and saying, "I'm headed into town to pick up some cereal for Jas. Need anything?"

"Some flour if you could, dear," Marnie says.

Anthony walks out the door - more saunter than anything - oh goodness, those _hips_. Marnie gives Aziraphale a look like she knows exactly what he's thinking and says, "I'll take the honey you brought and, you know, wine might not be good but Anthony _is_ partial to cranberry sauce. If you have any leftover fruit."

Aziraphale blushes, taking the cranberry wine with him.

And if he goes home and makes too many servings of cranberry sauce, he tells himself he's just being a good neighbor. After all, he never gave Anthony a welcome home gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189471578634/day-four-cranberries) on tumblr


	6. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a snippet from the Green Things universe so if you haven't read that the basic premise is: Nanny/Francis fake relationship. they're sleeping together but crowley thinks aziraphale doesn't love him because there's been some vigorous miscommunication.
> 
> chapter tags: explicit sexual content, angst, crowley pov, dowling era

Warlock was tuckered out from playing with all the other children at the Dowlings' Christmas party so, after a quick nightcap, Harriet had sent them back to the cottage for the night.

Aziraphale had seemed oddly excited about staying behind at the estate for the holidays. Crowley couldn't account for it. Not with the way he'd been lately, so awkward with Crowley. He'd been certain Aziraphale would make some excuse to disappear for a month. A sick mother or cousin or some silly thing the Dowlings would buy and then he would tell Crowley he was needed for Heavenly business back in London. Or some other thing that would be an obvious lie and would make Crowley's insides twist up.

Instead, Francis shuffled into the cottage behind Crowley after the party, kicking accumulated snow off his boots and bending over to unlace them. Crowley felt a little surge of lust watching Aziraphale's fingers undo the laces of his boots, deft and sure, memories of those calloused hands on his hips making his stomach grow hot.

Aziraphale tugged off his shoes, revealing his patchwork socks and Crowley had to look away. He constantly felt in danger of revealing too much, saying stupid things like _I love you. You're so perfect_. Stupid things that didn't mean anything to Aziraphale.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked and Crowley realized he'd just been standing in the entryway, staring while Aziraphale shook himself free of snow.

Stepping out of the way, Crowley tugged off his own thick jacket and toed off his heeled boots. With a sigh, Crowley miracled the bobby pins from his hair and tied the loose strands into a low bun.

When he walked into the living room, he saw Aziraphale kneeling in front of the fire, stoking the logs and making them throw sparks into the air. He turned back to look at Crowley and gave him a shy smile. "I thought you might like to have the fire going. You looked cold, my dear."

Crowley felt his burned out, ramshackle heart try to come alive inside him. Instead of allowing himself to say anything - _I love you_ -he knelt down in front of Aziraphale and pulled him into a harsh kiss, the feel of his sideburns under Crowley's fingers making his stomach lurch with want. He wanted to tear off Aziraphale's clothes, see his body, be inside him.

Aziraphale's fingers found the buttons of Crowley's blazer and, with practiced motions, undid them one by one, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms as they kissed. Crowley tugged at Aziraphale's smock and Aziraphale leaned back so Crowley could pull it over his head. There it was. The delicious expanse of Aziraphale's skin. The swell of his stomach, the patch of white hair at his sternum. Bearing down on him, Crowley laid Aziraphale down on his back and kissed his way down the angel's chest. 

When Crowley licked over Aziraphale's hip, his back arched and he gasped, the sound tearing at Crowley. _Yes, more of that, come apart for me. This, if nothing else, is mine._

He sank his teeth into the tender skin, relishing the sudden scrape of Aziraphale's hands in his hair as Crowley palmed at the ample flesh of his hips, his thighs. "I want to fuck you."

 _Love you._ The words were ash in his mouth.

Aziraphale nodded, parting the beautiful soft sea of his thighs so Crowley could take off his trousers and slip between them. "Do you want me to -" Aziraphale began tilting his hips as if to turn over.

Crowley shook his head. "No, let me see you."

Aziraphale's face went soft, eyes deep as an ocean and just as terrifying. Crowley realized he had made a grave mistake. Revealed too much. Swallowing around the embers in his throat, Crowley prepared Aziraphale carefully, the steady heat of the fire forgotten as he gave himself over to feeling the slick sensation of his fingers inside Aziraphale. 

Soon enough, he had Aziraphale squirming on the rug, begging as a sheen of sweat began to form on the hills and valleys of his body. Gorgeous. Glowing. Aziraphale.

Removing his fingers, Crowley pressed Aziraphale's legs back so he could line himself up and sink inside. Crowley felt the breath punch out of him as he pushed deeper, inch by inch feeling more like he was going to come apart and when he did all that would be left were his own charred edges. Scribbled out words on parchment, burned and buried. _I love you._ _I love you_. 

The words pounded in his ears along with his too-loud heart as he began to move, the sound overlaying Aziraphale's gasps and moans as Crowley thrust into him and Aziraphale's hips tilted to meet him. 

Too soon, too long, forever, a moment, Crowley felt the tight coil of need inside him snap as he spent himself inside Azirphale. He slipped out, too soon, too soon, and fisted Aziraphale's cock with one hand while the other pressed two fingers back inside, fucking into him as Crowley brought him over the edge.

Chest heaving, Aziraphale's hands grasped at his shoulders and said, "Please, Crowley, kiss me. Please."

Ignoring the mess between them, Crowley surged up Aziraphale's body and kissed him long and deep, the heat of the fire warming his bare back as, once more, he banked the words burning at the root of his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189491859789/day-five-fire) on tumblr


	7. Sleigh Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: book omens, established relationship

"Stupid," Crowley grumbled, drawing Aziraphale's attention.

"What's stupid?" he asked, wandering over to the window display Crowley was inspecting. They were supposed to be walking back to Crowley's flat after lunch but as per usual Crowley had gotten distracted.

"You're stupid," Crowley retorted.

"That's very rude," Aziraphale replied primly. 

Ignoring him, Crowley took one of his hands out of his pockets and gestured at the miniature sleigh in the window. "Sleighs? Alright. With the snow I could see how that's a symbol for the season. But bells? Sleigh bells? That was the last thing people heard before they _died_ , Aziraphale."

"Are we feeling morbid today?" Aziraphale asked, threading one arm through Crowley's in an attempt to distract him from what was surely an oncoming rant that could last for hours. Not that Aziraphale's efforts ever worked. "Is it the Christmas season? I know you don't prefer it but really there's no need -"

"They _died_ while these little bells jingle jangled over their crushed bodies. The harbinger of the original hit and run, sleigh bells."

"The point was to move out of the way," Aziraphale said with a long suffering sigh.

"Are you saying if some poor bloke got struck down in the street by a sleigh it was his fault?" Crowley asked, turning to Aziraphale in mock horror as he clutched at his chest. 

"That is _not_ what I'm saying," Aziraphale said. "Now move along. People are staring."

Crowley huffed and let Aziraphale drag him by the arm down the street. "Also," he said, even as he let Aziraphale steer him. "They're bloody irritating. Bells? Annoying as anything."

"People think they're charming, Crowley," Aziraphale said. Maybe he could get them to the flat, pour Crowley a nice drink and get him to drop the topic. He had very little hope on that front. Once Crowley sunk his teeth into something, he rarely let go. Case in point.

"Ch-ch-ch," Crowley said, imitating the ringing of sleigh bells. "Not even like church bells. Nice and sonorous. No, all high pitched and _jangly_."

"Yes, very irritating, my dear," Aziraphale said indulgently.

Crowley scowled. "It's not fun when you give in."

"Perhaps later we can discuss the merits of sleigh bells, but I would very much like to be out of this weather, under a blanket, and perhaps holding you close while the snow comes down. A much better celebration of the season than sleigh bells, in my opinion," Aziraphale said, watching as Crowley turned pink. He always turned pink when Aziraphale said frank things about their relationship. Which was why Aziraphale did it so much.

"Yeah, that sounds alright," Crowley said with a put-upon sigh. 

Aziraphale kissed his cheek. "Thank you, darling. I'll even make you Turkish coffee as a little treat."

Crowley rolled his eyes and grumbled the whole walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189512473574/day-six-sleigh-bells) on tumblr


	8. Silent Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: explicit, historical omens, aziraphale pov, friends (casual enemies) with benefits, oblivious pining (the best kind imo)
> 
> this is significantly more explicitly pornographic than my usual fare. please enjoy.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley said, sliding onto the bench across from him in the inn's tavern. "What a surprise!"

Aziraphale spluttered into his cup, nearly choking on his mouthful of wine. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"There's a rumbling Downstairs. We heard there are some _plans_ afoot."

Aziraphale stared at the table.

"Oh, there _are_ ," Crowley said, leaning forward on his elbows and grinning at Aziraphale wickedly. Not for the first time, Aziraphale noticed the way one of his cheeks pulled back, revealing a dimple when he smiled wide enough, noticed the way his incisors were slightly too long and just a little bit crooked. He tried not to think about it too much. Not the dimple nor the way his stomach jumped at the sight of his smile. "So this messiah business. God's really sending down Her son to die, huh?"

The inn was at capacity - as Aziraphale had been sent to accomplish - and the patrons around them were steadily getting drunk so no one noticed when Crowley not-so-subtly snapped his fingers and summoned a jug of wine.

"You know I can't talk about it," Aziraphale said petulantly even as he held out his cup for Crowley to fill.

"Doesn't mean I can't ask," Crowley replied, grin disappearing behind the rim of his cup. 

Aziraphale hesitated. "You're not here to do any sort of demonic business, are you? I doubt it's wise to try to interfere with the birth of God's own son."

"Nah," Crowley said, leaning back as far as he could on a bench with no back in some semblance of his usual lounge. "I suppose you could call this a social visit."

"A soc-A social visit," Aziraphale stammered, flustered by Crowley's unwavering gaze. 

Crowley's eyes went half-lidded. "If you like."

Aziraphale remembered the intoxicating taste of apricots in Crowley's mouth when Crowley kissed him for the first time in an alley in Babylon. The insistent press of his fingers under Aziraphale's robe in the back room of a storage house Arrapha. The salt-sweet taste of his skin that Aziraphale thought he might never forget.

"I'm on duty," Aziraphale insisted, gaze skittering away as his cheeks grew hot. 

"Never stopped you before," Crowley pointed out.

"It's never stopped _you_ before," Aziraphale countered and then regretted it when Crowley frowned at him. He shouldn't imply that he was innocent in this little arrangement of theirs.

"I've got a room upstairs if you change your mind," Crowley said lazily - like he didn't care, like he hadn't just looked hurt at Aziraphale's implication - lifting his cup to his lips and draining it in one go. He stood and slipped through the crowd like a shadow, disappearing up the stairs.

Without even thinking, Aziraphale stood and followed after, leaving his cup on the table and pushing through the swell of bodies. It was always like this, Crowley leading him into some silent place where they could fall into each other, taste each other, feel good in this unforgiving world. It didn't mean anything, this finding of mutual relief.

Crowley hadn't even gotten to his room, he was leaning against the wall in the darkened hall, eyes lambent in the shadows and looking more demonic than usual.

"Couldn't resist, could you?" Crowley said in a low voice.

Aziraphale pressed close to him and threaded his hands into his braids. "I don't have long," he said, searching Crowley's face as he leaned into Aziraphale's palm. Aziraphale felt a flash of fear. That felt suspiciously like affection, not just some fumble in a dark corner.

The soft expression disappeared from Crowley's face, replaced by something hungry as he grabbed Aziraphale's elbow and pushed him through the nearest door into a small boarding room, not even pausing before he sank his teeth into Aziraphale's neck and rucked up his robe.

"Take this off," Crowley said between the open-mouthed kisses he was laving over Aziraphale's collarbone.

"No time," Aziraphale replied, head tipped back as he gasped out the words.

Crowley growled in disapproval but sank to his knees, holding the fabric up so he could take Aziraphale into his mouth. His hand fell to Crowley's hair as he gripped his head, guiding him. "Oh, that's - oh, Crowley."

Crowley hummed around him as his hands sank into Aziraphale's hips and tugged. When Aziraphale remained still, breathing hard and staring at the stretch of Crowley's lips around his cock, Crowley pulled off of him, chin shining with spit as he said, "Are you going to fuck my mouth or not?"

A sound punched out of Aziraphale that he didn't recognize, high-pitched and desperate. Tightening his hold in Crowley's hair, he sank back into his mouth and moved, relishing the scrape of Crowley's teeth over his cockhead and the heat of his long fingers as they splayed over his hips. 

A light brighter than the moon began to filter in through the window, turning Crowley's face into a devastating pattern of shadow and light. Feeling the crest of his orgasm, Aziraphale pulled back but it was too late, he was already coming, hot spurts of it hitting Crowley's wet mouth, his nose, his cheeks.

The demon wiped at his mouth. "Did you really have to do that?"

Aziraphale groaned and fell to his knees, pushing Crowley back onto the ground. "Crowley, I need you, please."

"Fuck," Crowley breathed, eyes going wide. "I like it when you beg."

Aziraphale glanced out the window. That was the star that had been foretold, the sign rising in the sky. He knew he needed to leave. But he needed this first.

Crowley, with no inhibition, tore off his robe and used the sleeve to scrub the come from his face. He summoned something slick into his hand and reached between Aziraphale's legs. "I'm going to make you feel so good," he said distractedly, finger already tracing Aziraphale's hole and making him squirm.

Aziraphale wanted to say something biting - that's what they did, they fucked and they bickered and they didn't talk about it - but he felt like he couldn't breathe. The star was shining so bright, making Crowley look ethereal between his legs, fingers working steadily to open him, glancing up at him occasionally with a deadly affection in his eyes that made Aziraphale want to run, hide, scream.

He did none of those things.

Crowley asked, "On your back or on your knees?"

Aziraphale moaned when Crowley twisted his fingers just right. His cock was spent but his body was alight. "Just do it. Now."

Slowly pulling his hand away, Crowley pushed up Aziraphale's thighs and brushed his cock against that tight ring of muscle that was begging for more. And then he slipped inside and all thoughts disappeared from Aziraphale's head as he closed his eyes and tried to remember to breathe.

The star was shining and it turned the world pink behind Aziraphale's eyelids. Everything was silent except for Crowley's huffing breaths in his ear, the obscene sound of slapping skin as they came together. The moment was stretched unbearably thin, the pleasure-pain making Aziraphale's ears ring. All there was was Crowley inside him, harsh exhales, the press of Crowley's hands on his thighs. The silence was too much so Aziraphale broke it

"I need to - I need to leave," he managed to say, making Crowley pause in his steady movements. "Faster. Please."

Crowley cocked his head - something flashing through his eyes that Aziraphale couldn't name - but then smirked. There was that dimple. "You asked for it."

Crowley slammed back into him, again and again and again, the sharp curve of his hip bones pressing into the soft flesh of Aziraphale's thighs and making him feel like he was falling apart. His cock started to fill again and he reached between his legs to work his hand over himself, cresting his pleasure into something intense and shattering.

Crowley began to gasp, losing his rhythm as he closed his eyes and thrust a final time, spilling into Aziraphale. He clutched at Aziraphale's thighs, letting his head hang as he tried to catch his breath. The sight of his sweat kissed skin, the fall of his braids, had Aziraphale coming apart again. Crowley cried out as Aziraphale's muscles spasmed around where he was still fully seated inside him. Pulling away and letting Aziraphale's legs fall back to the floor, Crowley collapsed next to him and stared at the ceiling.

The star was shining and the room had gone white with it. When he rolled over to face Crowley, Aziraphale could see every freckle and imperfection on his skin. He was _beautiful_.

Aziraphale swiftly pushed the thought away, snapping his fingers to clean himself up. "I have to go."

The words came out more quiet than he intended.

Crowley waved his hand. "There's the door. Don't let it hit you on the way out."

His casual tone stung for reasons Aziraphale refused to examine. "Right. Thanks for the - thank you."

Crowley raised one eyebrow but didn't say anything so Aziraphale stood and rearranged his robes about his legs.

He felt Crowley's eyes on him as he opened the door.

"Say hullo to the messiah from me," Crowley called from the sleeping pallet.

Aziraphale ignored him and the strange ache in his chest as he passed through the silent hallway. He had somewhere to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189531840254/day-seven-silent-night) on tumblr


	9. Choir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: mature/explicit, continuation of ch 2, break up, angst, depression, continuation of chapter 2

Crowley hates the snow. He hates how it falls in his hair, making his scalp cold and wet. But he's gone outside for a reason. He's spent too long inside his flat. He needs fresh air. The sharp wind on his face makes him feel something besides the gnawing grief that's followed him for the last two years.

It's been two years. He shouldn't still feel this way.

_You felt this way for fifty years once._

Crowley grits his teeth. The thought isn't welcome. The fight about holy water had been nothing like this. They hadn't even been together then. Aziraphale barely acknowledged their friendship. The Crowley of 1862 had never heard Aziraphale say he loved him. He'd never kissed the corner of Aziraphale's mouth or seen the angel waking up slow to the morning sun on his beautiful face, head pillowed on Crowley's black silk sheets.

That Crowley had less to mourn.

Crowley takes himself to St. James' because he's a masochist that can't leave well enough alone. Some part of him thinking that, if he retraces their steps enough, he can feel Aziraphale with him again. They used to come here every year during the first snow. Aziraphale would fret and cajole him into a sweater and scarf and jacket, tug on his lapels and call him handsome. The memory warms as much as it hurts.

He regrets his idiotic sentimentality when he sees the crowds.

A herd of children is assembling, holding up little books and Crowley groans. He doesn't want to hear Christmas music, especially sung by a choir of children like something out of a terrible film where the music swells and there's a happy ending that nobody deserved.

Ready to turn away - call this a failure, a stupid idea - a flash of white-gold hair catches his attention. It isn't possible. They fought and Aziraphale closed up shop and took off to some corner of the world so Crowley wouldn't follow after. Aziraphale isn't in London. He can't be. Crowley stares, waiting for the crowd to part, and his heart stops. There he is, a little pink about the face from the cold. He looks like he's lost weight but he's smiling as he chats with the people around him. Then he looks up. He meets Crowley's eyes.

His smile falters.

Crowley looks at his feet and considers disappearing. His whole chest hurts. That starving grief returns, consuming his ribs and clawing up his throat. When he looks up again, Aziraphale is coming toward him.

The children begin to sing.

_Hark how the bells_

_Sweet silver bells_

"Hello, Crowley," Aziraphale says as he comes up to him. "I didn't - I didn't expect you to be here."

There's a hungry mouth in Crowley's throat. Crowley tries to speak but it won't let him, consuming his words, his heart. So Crowley stares.

Aziraphale stares back.

Crowley finally manages, "You're back then?"

"Yes, er, I missed the shop. And London," Aziraphale says, wringing his hands, eyes darting to the side and then back to Crowley. A sure sign he has something else to say but is too nervous. Feels he shouldn't.

_Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas_

"Are you...are you staying?" Crowley asks finally. The snow is coming down harder and he should leave, but it feels impossible, confronted as he is by the swirling gray of Aziraphale's eyes and the beautiful gold warmth of his presence. 

"I hope so," Aziraphale answers quietly. "I didn't like being away."

It feels like Aziraphale is saying something else but Crowley can't understand anything because of the music and the way his heart is trying to keep time. Just knowing Aziraphale will be in the same city as him is enough to make the emptiness ebb. They don't need to see each other. But Aziraphale will be _here,_ filling the city with his love, the brightness of it brushing at Crowley's ragged edges everywhere he goes.

"Would you like to get a drink?" Aziraphale asks as the voices rise behind them.

How can he sound so nervous? Doesn't he know Crowley would crawl and beg for just another moment together? 

"For old times' sake," Aziraphale adds with the beginning of a half-hearted smile. It nearly breaks Crowley to see him looking so sad. 

"Yes," Crowley chokes out. "Name the place. I'll be there."

Aziraphale visibly hesitates, shuffling his weight from foot to foot before he says, "Why don't we get out of the weather? Is that little Italian place still open?"

"The one with the wine cellar that -" they say in unison, both breaking off because they'd had sex in that cellar. Aziraphale had gotten on his knees, posh pink mouth so hot around Crowley's cock. Crowley's stomach lurches at the memory

"Perhaps the pub then," Aziraphale amends with a nervous laugh."The one up the street? We could walk there."

"What? Now?" Crowley asks, too loud, and Aziraphale looks taken aback at his tone.

"Of course we don't have to. I'm sure you're busy and -"

"No, now works," Crowley says hastily -desperately - and then regrets it. "Fuck, of course it does."

His hands are aching with the desire to reach out. Terrified he might give into the impulse, Crowley fists them in his coat pockets.

The children have stopped singing and the gathered audience claps, but Aziraphale doesn't move to join them. He stares at Crowley and Crowley mourns the loss of his soft chin, the slope of his plush arms. Aziraphale is smaller now and Crowley can't help but feel that some part of that is his fault.

"Shall we go then?" Aziraphale asks as the children begin to sing once more.

"Lead the way," Crowley says.

**

[Next Chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51810994#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189552400749/day-eight-choir) on tumblr


	10. Chestnuts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: first kiss, post apocalypse, first time, pining crowley, bickering (i mean when do they not)
> 
> based on cursory research xmas markets are thing in the UK but im making up how they work

The Christmas market was bustling and Crowley hated it only a little. It had finally stopped snowing but the skies were still cloudy and he had a feeling more of the stuff was imminent. He was cold and little damp but Aziraphale was beside him, bustling from stall to stall, bright-eyed, pink-cheeked from the cold, and smiling.

So, all in all, not too bad.

Crowley kept his hands jammed into the pockets of his coat to keep from reaching for Aziraphale. Nearly four months since they'd been released from their respective positions. They were free. To do what they wanted, be who they wanted. Be together. And yet, Aziraphale had stalwartly continued on like nothing had happened whatsoever. Sure, he smiled a little more and Crowley had standing invite for Friday nights at the bookshop but...

Perhaps Crowley had been stupid to expect anything different.

That didn't stop his hands from twitching when Aziraphale stepped close and showed him another bauble he found fascinating. It was like his palms were whispering _it's fine, just reach out. Pull him over here. Kiss him._

But then Aziraphale would step away, onto the next stall, following the thread of his interest like always. Maybe Crowley just needed to do it. Take the next step for both of them. Hold his hand. Gather his nerves and kiss the sodding angel.

Crowley's whole body tingled at the mere idea. Pathetic.

Snow started to fall again and Crowley was thankful for the excuse for his reddening cheeks. The cold flakes were a welcome distraction from the bad idea that was stubbornly taking root inside of him.

A few steps ahead of him, Aziraphale turned back and pointed across the walk. "Oh, look, Crowley! Roasted chestnuts."

Crowley trailed after him with thoughts like _it's never going to be the perfect time. Just do it. Kiss him._

Aziraphale bought a little packet of steaming chestnuts and held them out to Crowley to offer him one. Crowley waved him off, stomach in knots as it rebelled against the ideas running circles in his head.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale plucked a warmed chestnut from the paper cone and brought it to his lips. Aziraphale closed his eyes, savoring the flavor. With the snow coming down and his cheeks flushed, Aziraphale looked more like an angel than ever and Crowley, unable to resist any longer and completely overcome by a truly unreasonable swell of affection, moved closer and captured Aziraphale's mouth in a kiss. 

His nose was cold where it pressed against Crowley's cheek but his lips were warm from the chestnut. He tasted like salt and when Crowley pulled back, Aziraphale looked at him, aghast.

Oh fuck.

That was why he'd not done that before. It wasn't about waiting. It was about Aziraphale not wanting him to -

"Do _not_ tell me you just kissed me for the first time while I had a mouth full of _chestnut_ ," Azirphale said, sounding very cross. 

Crowley looked around like maybe some stranger would save him from the situation. No one could be found. "Well, I mean, erm..."

Aziraphale huffed. "You couldn't wait for something more romantic? Six thousand years and you kiss me while I'm eating chestnuts."

Aziraphale wasn't angry about the kissing? He was angry about _how_ Crowley kissed him? This was absolutely best case scenario

Well, that wasn't true. Best case scenario would be Aziraphale dropping the chestnuts and snogging Crowley silly in the middle of this ridiculous Christmas market until Crowley couldn't feel his limbs anymore.

Pouting rather magnificently, Aziraphale said, "And we can never have a first kiss again and you just...of course you'd do something like this. I was planning it, you know. I'd invited you up here and I was going to kiss you because you'd been _prevaricating_ for so long and I thought, well, Aziraphale, pull yourself together. You're as much a part of this as he is. We were going to go to dinner, I was going to order champagne and I was going to kiss you goodnight and it would have been _romantic_. And of course you couldn't let me have this, you impatient serpent, always rushing ahead and not letting me -"

Crowley kissed him again because it seemed like the thing to do. This time Aziraphale sighed and kissed him back. He still tasted a bit like chestnuts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um ive only had roasted chestnuts in japan where they sell them in little stalls where you get them in this sort of paper cone thing. i have no idea if thats how chestnuts work elsewhere
> 
> Posted [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189572868184/day-nine-chestnuts) on tumblr


	11. Silver and Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> taking a little break from putting crowley through the wringer and submitting aziraphale to some pining  
> chapter tags: pining, humor, drinking, confessions, rated T

Crowley is roaring drunk and Aziraphale is less so. He's started drinking less since the apocalypse. Not because he no longer enjoys it, rather because he's worried he'll make some sort of terrible mistake when his inhibitions are lowered. Give in to the feelings that have been surging inside him for over fifty years - probably longer if he's honest with himself. He tries not to be.

It's just that Crowley is so enticing when he gets excited like this. Hands all akimbo as he gestures widely, face glowing from the truly ridiculous amount of alcohol he has imbibed, and eyes just a bit glassy. Crowley always takes off his sunglasses when he gets drunk. And Aziraphale has never fully appreciated it because he's usually drunk too. But now he can drink his fill of those darting eyes, the daffodil yellow of them.

Crowley would hate that description and every other one that goes through Aziraphale's mind. Honey. Sunflower. Gold.

Crowley would probably say something crass like piss yellow or the arse end of a mustard bottle.

Aziraphale does not agree. 

Crowley kicks at his shin, his spindly leg long enough to make contact even though Aziraphale is safely in his desk chair and Crowley is all the way on the settee. "You're not listening, angel."

"No, no. I am," Aziraphale assures him. "You were lamenting the loss of bees."

Crowley narrows his eyes in suspicion but continues on his rant. Aziraphale suppresses a lovesick sigh. He is truly gone. Crowley - idiotic, rambling, ridiculous Crowley - so thoroughly has his affections that watching him make a fool of himself as he sprawls on Aziraphale's ancient settee has his heart racing. 

He thinks - not for the first time - about setting down his glass and crossing the distance between them, tilting Crowley's head up with a delicate hand on his chin so he can kiss him. 

But Aziraphale won't. Because Crowley doesn't want that.

For years - years! - Aziraphale was certain Crowley loved him. That the slip of pressure in Crowley's presence was the demon's quiet love, restrained but always there. It's the way it encircled him, cool and shining reminding Aziraphale of silver thread. Fine and delicate, gathering in strength as it coiled around him more and more every year. Aziraphale had thought Crowley's wasn't acting on his feelings because Aziraphale had been hesitant for so long. And yet, the apocalypse didn't happen. And Crowley still kept a respectable distance. Aziraphale brushed his hand once and Crowley had nearly tripped on the sidewalk. Not exactly a thrilling response. So Aziraphale didn't try again. Perhaps that thread of love Aziraphale was so certain about is firmly platonic and Aziraphale has been misreading him for the last century. Willful ignorance at its finest.

When Aziraphale looks back at Crowley, the demon has fallen silent, the golden flicker of his eyes fixed firmly on Aziraphale, face soft and dangerously beautiful. Aziraphale feels those coruscating strands wind further around his heart. Crowley immediately looks away when their eyes meet, acting harried, like he's forgotten something.

"Sorry," he mumbles, standing up and grasping for his jacket. "I should go. Best not - not trying to...you know."

Aziraphale decidedly does _not_ know.

Crowley launches himself to his feet unsteadily as he slips on his coat. Aziraphale is at his side as quickly as he is able, grasping at his elbow to stay him.

"Please don't hurry off."

Crowley rolls his head on his neck to regard Aziraphale with eyes gold as coins. They gleam in the warm light of the bookshop and Aziraphale wants to step forward, fold the demon in his arms, and tell him how precious he is.

The tension goes out of Crowley and his eyes dampen before he turns back to Aziraphale, a bit unsteady on his feet. "Look, I'm trying to tone it down. Don't exactly know how so you'll have to tell me if it works. Not exactly like I've been controlling it for all these years."

Aziraphale blinks and drops his hand. "It? Controlling - what are you talking about?"

Crowley takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders like he's gearing up for a fight. Like he thinks Aziraphale might throw a punch. "You know, _it_. The - the thing we don't talk about," Crowley says meaningfully, voice still slurring with alcohol. "Yanno _my_ thing. You've let me down easy often enough. And don't think I'm not, you know, thankful. But I didn't know you could, er, feel it all this time."

Aziraphale feels rather like he's tumbling headfirst down a hill with no idea how to stop. 

"Must be bloody uncomfortable. Constantly being" - Crowley flashes his hands out like he's in some sort of vaudeville - "bombarded with all this demonic _love_."

Aziraphale gasps, understanding spinning through him as surely as the ever present cool threads of Crowley's love. He turns his attention to that silver sensation and feels it withdraw, unwind and slither away into nothing. Aziraphale hates it.

"Don't," Aziraphale says, too loud and Crowley visibly shrinks.

"Sorry, right, shouldn't've..." Crowley mumbles, tugging his arm away from Aziraphale. "Gonna just...pop off then."

"Don't you dare leave," Aziraphale says. "Did you ever once consider I love you too or were you too busy feeling sorry for yourself?"

Apparently, years suppressing his feelings and several months of disappointment have made Aziraphale a bit tetchy.

Crowley's glasses are halfway to his face when he freezes and they drop from his hand to clatter on the ground. "What?" he chokes out.

Aziraphale's frustration leaves him because the cool threads inside him have started to glow, grow warm, turn gold. "I love you, you fool," he manages to say and he knows he sounds like he might cry. 

"Am I completely sloshed?" Crowley asks. "Or did you really just say you loved me?"

"Yes to both," Aziraphale says and he's glad he isn't drunk because there's nothing blurring the sensation when Crowley crosses the room and folds him into his arms 

Aziraphale feels like he's glowing from the inside out. And he's an angel, so who knows? Maybe he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ficlet contains one of my favorite phrases ive ever written which is "the arse end of a mustard bottle."
> 
> Posted [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189593202989/day-ten-silver-and-gold) on tumblr


	12. Pine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: post apocalypse, established relationship, fluff, bickering

"Look, Crowley!" Aziraphale calls, pointing at one of the trees in the lot. "This one is perfect."

Crowley looks up from his phone screen and eyes the offending Christmas tree. "Bit tall for the bookshop, don't you think?"

Aziraphale purses his lips. "Yes, but it's the perfect height for your flat."

"Oh no, you don't," Crowley says. "You're not putting a Christmas tree in my flat. No."

Aziraphale looks at him with wide, pleading eyes and Crowley can begin to feel himself waver.

"No, think of the sap. The needles. The bloody upkeep. No."

"But Crowley, we could light the fire and decorate the tree. And once it's done we could huddle up on the couch and look at the lights. It would be lovely," Aziraphale says dreamily which has Crowley crumbling like a poorly assembled piece of Ikea furniture.

He kicks at some snow on the ground and grumbles, "Fine, but you're taking care of it."

"Oh please, it hardly requires anything but some water."

Crowley scowls but it's hard to manage with Aziraphale beaming at him like that. The angel flits to his side and kisses his cheek.

"Now, do you think anyone would notice if I miracled it there?" Aziraphale asks, with a significant amount of performative thoughtfulness.

Crowley rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers.

Aziraphale was going to ask anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189609828469/day-eleven-pine) on tumblr


	13. Caroling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: explicit, historical omens, crowley has a beard (this is described enough that i suppose it warrants its own tag), angst, friends with benefits, sort of a continuation of [ch 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51590968), unegotiated d/s undertones and allusions to subspace
> 
> also theres a sort of sequel contained in a beautiful mess

Crowley was woken up by a knock at his door. He grumbled, stretching his joints to rid them of the specific type of stiff feeling that meant he had been asleep for at least five years. His mind flashed back to the reason he'd laid down for a nap in the first place.

Aziraphale. Holy water. _The feeling is mutual._

Crowley groaned. He didn't want to remember that.

The knock sounded again and with it Crowley heard singing. What the bloody fuck was that? He looked out his window and saw snow in the trees. 

It was Christmastime, wasn't it? 

"Bloody cheer and merrymaking and _carolers,_ " Crowley growled, getting out of bed. Maybe he could go terrify some unsuspecting carolers and laugh himself sick when they scuttled off.

He shortened his beard quickly, tight about his face, and changed his hair into one of those short styles that went in and out of vogue every decade or so. Glancing at himself in a mirror, he decided he looked pretty good. He'd go out, woo the crowd with friendliness and then, at the last second, transform into a monster so grotesque that every single one would have nightmares for weeks. 

He summoned some clothes he hoped would pass as fashionable and pulled open the door.

_Jingle bells, jingle bells_

Oh, that was irritating. He suppressed a grimace and tried out an insincere smile. He'd forgotten how awful this caroling business was. Had he invented that one? Nah, must have been Upstairs. Too much joy for the season to be something he'd do.

Staring out over the small group of carolers, Crowley froze when his eyes alighted on a familiar white puff of hair. Crowley snapped his fingers and sure enough, the crowd fixed in place as time stopped, but one fidgeting angel belied himself.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley asked, cocking his head.

The angel sidled out of the bunch of carolers, eyes darting from side to side. "Crowley, I didn't know you lived in Mayfair."

"What? Else you would have encouraged your little group elsewhere?" Crowley sneered.

Aziraphale gave him a sharp look, moving up the steps to draw level with Crowley in the doorway. "Don't act as if I'm the one in the wrong here."

"Oh what did I do? Ask for a favor? Didn't know that was so taboo among friends."

"We aren't friends," Aziraphale hissed. And wasn't that his favorite thing to say. Fuck in a dark corner, kiss while no one was looking, but Somebody forbid they were friends. No, they did each other favors. And the sex was just another one of those favors.

Angry enough not to think very hard, Crowley fisted his hand in Aziraphale's stupid cream cravat and pulled him closer, until their noses almost touched. "Fine. Not friends. Been a while though, hasn't it?" he sneered.

"Seven years," Aziraphale said breathlessly. 1869 then. Good to know. 

Aziraphale was looking at his mouth and it was a heady thing, a moment where Crowley knew he had every drop of that angelic focus. Crowley dropped his hand and stepped away.

"You coming in or not?" Crowley asked like he didn't care either way. Of course he fucking cared. He'd drop to his knees right there on the steps if Aziraphale asked.

Aziraphale's stormy eyes flickered and then he was surging forward and kissing him, hands coming up to sink into his beard as Aziraphale slipped his tongue between Crowley's lips, caressing and slick as he pulled him close.

"Can't leave them frozen forever, angel," Crowley said when they finally pulled apart to breathe.

"Don't say that," Aziraphale said, brushing past Crowley and into the house.

Crowley frowned. "What?"

"Angel," Aziraphale said, turning his back to Crowley as he began to undo the buttons of his coat.

Crowley snapped his fingers and the carolers returned to their incessant chirping.

"Oh, bugger off," he shouted, showing his fangs.

The sharp inhalations weren't as good as blood-curdling screams, but Crowley was about to have Aziraphale's cock and that was better than anything he could cook up for these ruddy humans.

He slammed the door behind himself when he stepped inside. Aziraphale had already divested himself of his coat, tossing it over the back of Crowley's rarely used settee before he began undoing his cuffs. The light from the streetlamps reflected off the snow and cast the room in melting shadows. Aziraphale was half turned away, hiding the curl of his mouth, the dip of his chin. Crowley wanted to see it. He wanted Aziraphale to face him in the light.

Crowley leaned against the doorway to the sitting room and crossed his arms over his chest. "So how do you want me, ang-Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale was rolling up his sleeves and then he was tugging at his cravat, tossing it aside to join his jacket. The opening of his shirt revealed a smattering of white chest hair that Crowley hadn't seen for over a century. When was the last time? 

After the Bastille. After crepes. He'd licked the taste of strawberries from Aziraphale's mouth while Aziraphale slid inside him in their hastily rented room.

"On your knees," Aziraphale said with a meaningful gesture at the floor in front of him. Those words in that posh little voice had Crowley's blood roaring in his ears. 

"Fuck, yes," Crowley said, scrambling to comply. He loved getting Aziraphale off with his mouth, burying his nose in short white curls, the smell of salt and lemons and Aziraphale as the angel grew incoherent above him. If he was lucky - and he usually was - Aziraphale would grip his hair and tug just right. Sometimes Crowley would come in his trousers just from that. And sometimes Aziraphale would lick him clean.

It didn't matter though. Because Crowley liked it all.

Tugging at the buttons of Aziraphale's trousers, Crowley traced the line of his half-hard cock with his hand. His mouth watered as he imagined tasting him. Aziraphale gripped the back of the settee and moaned when Crowley mouthed his erection where it strained against the thin fabric of his trousers.

Buttons finally undone, Crowley pulled back and tugged Aziraphales trousers down about his knees before licking the precome from Aziraphale's cock and swallowing him down once, twice. He pulled off.

"Is this what you want?" Crowley asked. He should have been embarrassed by how wrecked he sounded but he didn't care. He wanted Aziraphale any way Aziraphale would have him. Crowley would take anything Aziraphale was willing to give. He'd hold it in both hands and he'd thank G - Somebody for just this. It wasn't an apology. It wasn't anything that mattered but - wretched thing that he was - Crowley wanted it.

Aziraphale looked down at him, delicate hands coming up to trace through the bristles of his beard.

"I like this. You look so different, so..." Aziraphale said, and for a moment he looked so full of affection that Crowley swore to himself he'd never be clean shaven again. But then Aziraphale pulled his hands back in horror, eyes wide and terrified.

He yanked Crowley up by his jacket and then shoved it off his shoulders. Aziraphale kissed him like he wanted to bruise, to consume, to grind Crowley into blood and bone.

Aziraphale turned Crowley until he was flush against the settee, Aziraphale against his back as the angel tugged down his trousers and warm, slick fingers found his entrance.

"Fuck," Crowley gasped, jerking forward, his cock scraping against the couch as Aziraphale slipped his fingers over his perineum and then back to circle his hole. 

Aziraphale pressed tighter against him when he pushed one finger inside. 

"Are you going to fuck me, Aziraphale?" Crowley asked bitterly, so overwhelmed that he was unable to resist the urge to say something biting. 

Aziraphale didn't answer, adding another finger and twisting them just right. Crowley gasped at the intensity of it, pressing back against Aziraphale's hand so he would fuck him harder, faster.

"Greedy thing," Aziraphale admonished, scissoring his fingers and making Crowley cry out.

Then he pulled away, fisting one hand in the fabric of Crowley's shirt between his shoulder blades, and using the other to align his cock. Aziraphale made a pained noise. when he slipped inside. He pulled Crowley's shirt so tight it nearly choked him, cutting off his own sound of shock as Aziraphale sank into him.

What an idiot he'd been thinking he'd just wanted to be on his knees for Aziraphale. He loved this. The stretch of it. The feel of Aziraphale's belly against his arse once he was fully seated. Even not looking at him - fuck, he wanted to see his face, the pink cheeks, the slick open mouth - Crowley wanted it. He felt Aziraphale pull back and then push back inside, once slowly and then again, faster, setting a pace that had Crowley squirming where he was bent over the back of the sofa. He wanted to press back into Aziraphale, but if he leaned forward his cock scraped against the black velvet of the settee every time Aziraphale thrust into him.

It turned out he didn't have to choose because Aziraphale's hand found his hip, holding him still as the other stayed firmly in the back of Crowley's shirt, holding him up, holding him in place. 

The feeling of being surrounded, held down, had Crowley unspooling. "Fuck, I'm - I'm -" 

He shuddered as he came. Aziraphale fucked into him again and again and again until Crowley was nothing, until he didn't exist. Until it was just Aziraphale and his own aching body.

At some point, Aziraphale came and Crowley fell to his knees when Aziraphale released him, one hand clutching at the floor to keep himself upright.

He turned back to look at Aziraphale and immediately regretted it. Crowley had felt his body had been used up - razed and burned - but the sight of Aziraphale, sleeves rolled up, face glistening with sweat, had his heart give one last heave before it collapsed completely to ash.

"Feel better?' Crowley asked with his most wicked grin because he couldn't leave well enough alone and if Aziraphale was going to look wrecked than Crowley would be the one to wreck him.

Aziraphale frowned. "I came here to apologize you know. I shouldn't have stayed."

"Funny way of apologizing, putting your cock in me. Is that the way they're doing it in Heaven these days?" Crowley replied without thinking, flopping onto his arse to lean his head against the back of the couch. He felt Aziraphale's come steadily leaking from him. He could miracle it away. He could but...

"You - You're disgusting," Aziraphale spat, tucking his shirttails into his trousers and then snapping his fingers, restoring his waistcoat and cravat. 

"You're the one that just fucked me," Crowley said, raising one eyebrow in challenge even as his stomach turned over. He'd started this fight because he needed it. Needed the reminder of what Aziraphale thought about him.

 _We're not friends_.

"I can't believe you," Aziraphale said, sounding angrier than Crowley had intended. "Why are you like this? You only ever want one thing. A favor. Be it this or - or - well, I'm done, Crowley."

Desperately trying to latch on to something to keep Aziraphale in the room, to extend the conversation - anything - Crowley said, "You said you didn't know I lived in Mayfair."

"What?" Aziraphale's nose wrinkled in confusion.

"You said. Outside. You didn't know I lived here."

"Well, I lied. I always know where you live. You're the Adversary and I'm not an idiot," he said, an echo of that conversation from years ago.

He shouldn't - he should shut up. He might be able to salvage this if he could just shut up. "Could have fooled me," Crowley snapped. 

Aziraphale's eyes glittered - anger and hurt mixed together into something Crowley couldn't describe. All he knew was that it carved him out, reached into his ashen chest and scraped out the last of him. 

"Fine. I'll see myself out."

Crowley went to stand but Aziraphale shoved him back to the ground with a pulse of power. 

"Don't follow me."

Crowley had thought his ugly heart had collapsed entirely but it turned out there was still something inside him that could break. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189627831539/day-twelve-caroling)


	14. Wrapping Paper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: reverse stardew omens, farmer au, human au, fluff, kid fic
> 
> can be read as a continuation of Chapter Four: Cranberries

Aziraphale wakes up later than normal. It's his own fault for staying up so late the night before but the heater had broken in the chicken coop and he hadn't wanted the poor hens to freeze. He'd had to move all the chickens into the barn, but the little things were quite nervous and it had taken every ounce of Aziraphale's meager abilities to coax them into the other building.

Once he's awake, he sees the snow falling outside. He wants to go into town and pick up a few ingredients to make omelettes for dinner but it's the perfect morning for a cup of cocoa and book by the hearth so he resolves to go into town at noon. Once he's had time to wake up. After a long year of working day in and day out to get the farm into some semblance of order, Aziraphale is relishing the free time he has in the winter. Sure he still has to care for the animals and cut the weeds back - stubborn things seem to be the only thing that grows in winter - but there are no gardens to water or plants to harvest. It frees up his time so he's been catching up on his reading and spending more time at Gus's, making friends.

It feels like he's really beginning to settle into the community after three seasons here. It warms him to feel so welcome somewhere, so different from the cold unfriendly atmosphere of the city. Not to mention the awful attitudes at his old job.

Aziraphale is startled by a knock at the door. It's barely 8 AM! The town doesn't even really start to rise until 9 so he has no idea who could be bothering him so early. 

When he opens the door he's surprised to see Anthony Crowley standing sheepishly on his porch, hair windblown, and bundled in a black down jacket. There's a little girl at his side bouncing excitedly. "Crowleyyyyy," she whines at her godfather. "Give him the thing!"

Anthony - Crowley? Does he go by his last name? Even with his goddaughter? - looks at Aziraphale and gives him a wry smile. "Marnie and Jas wanted me to bring you a gift. A thank you for the honey."

Aziraphale blushes. He's in his matching set of tartan pajamas and his curly blonde hair must be wild. "Oh that's...that's unnecessary."

Jas looks up at him with wide eyes. "But Mr. 'sirphale," she begins, tongue tripping over his name. "I wrapped it for you. You have to open it!"

Crowley holds out a box messily wrapped in shiny red paper and cocks one eyebrow, a teasing smile playing over his mouth.

Aziraphale sighs and takes it in his hands. "Would you like to come in? I was just making some cocoa."

Jas looks up at Crowley for permission and then shoots past Aziraphale into the house. "Sorry," Crowley says with a grimace. "She's a morning person in the making."

"Yes," Aziraphale says, looking back at the little girl who has already clambered up into a dining chair, patiently waiting as she peers around the room with obvious curiosity. "Quite energetic."

"You don't know the half of it," Crowley says under his breath as he follows Aziraphale into the house.

It's a modest place. Aziraphale hasn't had much time to make it as homey as he'd like but he has two full bookshelves and a cushy chair by the hearth. It might only be one large room but it serves him well enough.

Aziraphale goes back to the stove and triples the hot cocoa recipe, listening to the sounds of Crowley and Jas in low discussion. She's asking about the cabin and Aziraphale and he can hear Crowley's low chuckle when he does his best to answer. Their little domestic scene makes Aziraphale smile and when he hands off the mugs, his smile grows wider because Jas does an excited dance in her seat. Crowley takes his own chipped blue mug into his wide hands which only draws Aziraphale's attention to the knob of his wrist, the dark dust of hair that peeks out of the cuff of his coat. There's something so vulnerable and masculine about it that it has Aziraphale's stomach kicking up a fuss.

Once Aziraphale sits, Crowley pushes the gift at him. 

"You going to open it or not?" he asks, that playful smile back on his face. Aziraphale's stomach has barely had time to settle before it begins to riot once more. Crowley has a dimple and it's _devastating_.

"I - I suppose I will," Aziraphale says, reaching out to take the box. Their fingers brush at the edges and Aziraphale bites his lip. When was the last time he'd been close to someone? It must have been quite some time if the way his body lights up at the short contact is anything to go by.

Jas slurps at her cocoa while Aziraphale peels back the paper. Inside is a box of baking pans. Much nicer than the dented ones Aziraphale has been using. "Oh, it's too much," Aziraphale says, trying to push the box back at Crowley.

"No," Jas says before her godfather can say anything. "If you have nice pans you can make more food for us."

"She liked your cranberry sauce," Crowley explains and Aziraphale can't help the pride that warms his heart. He does so love sharing with people.

Aziraphale takes back the box and turns it, only to spy a piece of paper taped to one side. He carefully peels it off and looks at Crowley in question.

"Thought you might like another recipe to try when spring comes around," Crowley says with a shrug. 

Aziraphale looks down at the painstakingly written recipe. The writing is crooked and haphazard but readable. He immediately resolves to make these little pepper poppers the minute he has the ingredients.

Spring can't come soon enough.


	15. Eggnog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: post apocalypse, anathema/newt, christmas party, established relationship

Aziraphale and Crowley trudged up the walk to Anathema's cottage and Aziraphale rang the doorbell before giving him a firm look. "Now no funny business. they might know you're a demon but you should be on your best behavior."

Crowley didn't think that was very fair. Like he was going to muck things up for fun. He wouldn't -

Alright, he would.

The door opened as Crowley made mocking gestures behind Aziraphale's back and they were received by a surprised looking Anathema.

"Oh! You came!" she said, sounding a bit confused but pleased. 

"Yes, of course," Aziraphale said with an indulgent smile. "We've brought cake."

Anathema looked at the cake box in his hands. "You can put it over on the food table. And help yourself to drinks."

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a look but followed the direction of her gesture and found a little wooden table covered in lace cloth, a glass bowl set in the middle and a variety of nibbles displayed around it.

"Oh, that looks like a very nice brie," Aziraphale said, leaning over the table to inspect it. Crowley had resolved to miracle some better food if the angel hadn't found it up to snuff. But he looked intrigued. Which could only be a good thing. 

Aziraphale reached over and brushed their fingers together, a small sign of affection that still had Crowley's stomach fluttering. It had only been a few months since they acknowledged this thing between them and both of them struggled with these outward expressions of their feelings. Years of hiding and pretending otherwise made them both a bit skittish. 

They'd kissed exactly once. That day after the Ritz, just after the apocalypse, riding high on their success. Aziraphale had apologized for not choosing Crowley sooner because he loved him, had for quite some time. And Crowley had nearly brained himself on a nearby post by walking straight into it. Then Aziraphale had kissed him, right outside the bookshop where anyone could see.

They'd both lept away from each other, breathing hard, more than a little terrified.

But they were working on it.

Newt drew up beside them and they jumped apart, feeling caught out. Crowley wanted to snap at him to bugger off, but it wasn't the boy's fault that he and Aziraphale were so bloody nervous. All he wanted was to be able to hold Aziraphale's hand. Kiss him. Hold him and say, We're _together. We're in love_.

"Didn't expect you lot to show up," Newt said jovially, a mug in his hand that smelled like coffee. Crowley eyed it. Was there coffee on?

Aziraphale nodded politely, giving him a tiny but genuine smile. "Oh, we were so pleased to get the invitation."

"What's that?" Crowley asked, distracted as he leaned over the glass punch bowl and wrinkled his nose. He flicked his tongue out to scent the air but it just smelled sweet.

"Ah, eggnog. Some American thing. Cream, eggs, sugar," Newt explained, rocking on his feet.

Crowley frowned. Sounded disgusting. Newt nodded sympathetically.

"Yeah, Anathema loves it. Can't say I'm a fan but she said it was the season and all," Newt explained as Aziraphale reached out and scooped some into a glass cup.

"Well," Aziraphale said with a little mischievous smirk. "When in Rome as they say."

Crowley suppressed an eye roll but watched with interest as Aziraphale took a sip. "Oh, it's quite like posset. Crowley, do you remember posset?"

He looked up at Crowley a thin line of cream outlining his upper lip. Without thinking, Crowley leaned forward and kissed it, tasting cream and sugar and cinnamon. 

Aziraphale stared at him when they separated, mouth slightly agape.

"Um, I'll just..." Newt said, pointing in the opposite direction as he edged away. 

Crowley stepped away abruptly and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry - I...bit sudden."

Aziraphale was looking at him like Crowley had just handed him the world. "It's alright. It was very nice."

"Oh, yeah," Crowley shrugged, looking anywhere but at Aziraphale. "Right then. Good."

"Darling," Aziraphale said and _that_ sent Crowley's stomach into fits. All that fluttering from before seemed like nothing in comparison. "I know we're both - well. That is to say, you can kiss me anytime you like.

"Hrgk," Crowley grunted, feeling his cheeks get hot. 

Aziraphale took his hand and brought it to his mouth to press a kiss over his knuckles. "We're working on it together."

And that made Crowley feel - at least a little bit - better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe i have a thing for crowley kissing aziraphale when he has food in his mouth?  
> tbd
> 
> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189666367304/day-fourteen-eggnog)


	16. Laughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: continuation of ch 2: [ Snow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51569731) and ch 8: [Choir](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51599491), angst, pining, post break up, reconciliation

They settle into a booth at the pub and Crowley has no idea what to do with his hands. He has no idea what Aziraphale expects. Part of him can still hardly believe Aziraphale's here. Back in London. Sitting across from him. Bright enough that it hurts Crowley to look at him.

Crowley fidgets in his seat while Aziraphale disappears to the bar, returning with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. 

"Your favorite," Aziraphale says with a small smile as he holds up the bottle.

Crowley's stomach turns over but it's alright. It's better than alright. He might want more - another moment, another glance, always more more more - but Aziraphale is here. And that's better than anything really.

Crowley takes one of the empty glasses and rolls it in his hands, feels the cut glass edges. The pads of his fingers are still cold from the outdoors where he can see the snow is still sifting down, but it's warm in here, the lowlight of the bar illuminating everything in soft golds and browns.

Aziraphale reaches out and carefully takes the glass from his hand, his ring finger brushes Crowley's and Crowley wishes he could reach out and tangle their hands together. But it would be too much. He's always been too much.

"So," Crowley begins, unable to take the silence when Aziraphale pushes the half full glass back to him. "How are - how are you? How was..erm..." Crowley has no idea where Aziraphale had been. He'd tried very hard not to think on it.

A little crease appears between Aziraphale's eyebrows. "America actually. On the west coast. It was lovely."

"Ah, well that's - that's good," Crowley stammers. Fuck, he needs to get himself together. If he does this right then maybe Aziraphale will stay around for just a bit longer. Share the same air, the same place. Maybe give him just a few more words before he disappears again.

They exchange pleasantries. Crowley lies and says that he's been doing well.

They drink.

Aziraphale comments on the weather. Apparently it was warmer where he was for the last two years.

They drink. 

They've both had two glasses and Crowley feels loose about the hips and relaxed in a way that perhaps he shouldn't be around Aziraphale at the moment. It's probably dangerous but he can't find it in himself to give a fuck.

"So," he says, leaning forward until one of his elbows collides with the tabletop. "You're back for the bookshop. Going to open the old girl up?"

Aziraphale is slightly pink - The way he always is after enough whiskey. It's a color he only turns over whiskey, not wine or brandy. Only whiskey. He scowls at Crowley. "I don't think my shop has a gender, Crowley.

"It's an expression," Crowley replies with a dramatic eyeroll.

Aziraphale scoffs. "If you must know, yes. I came back here with the purpose of re-opening my shop. Did you know I worked at a library in America? The way those people treat their books. Someone returned a copy of _Persuasion_ with nearly a tablespoon of jam inside. _Jam_ , Crowley."

Aziraphale gives a little full body shake as if to rid himself of the horror.

It's so quintessentially _Aziraphale_ that a laugh cracks out of Crowley. It feels so foreign to him that it almost hurts, but then he's tossing his head back and laughing, really laughing for the first time in years. It makes his belly hurt, his hands clench. Some part of him is soaring because, out of everything they had once upon a time, this was the best part of it. The understanding. The laughter.

When he finally stops to breathe, rubbing a hand over his mouth as the giggles subside, Aziraphale is looking at him, eyes damp, and the joy floods out of Crowley.

"Are you alright?" Crowley asks, struggling to sit up straight. He realizes he's too drunk and considers sobering up.

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale says hurriedly, wiping at his eyes. "I apologize. I simply, well, I forgot how handsome you are when you laugh."

"Oh," Crowley manages but that's all he manages.

Aziraphale looks at his lap. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I know it's difficult with our - with what happened, but I - I would like to be friends again."

"Fuck," Crowley says, a gasp for air. "Of course. Yeah. I'd like that."

Aziraphale smiles, relieved, a bit of the old brightness returning and making Crowley's heart do something terribly painful but still so worthwhile. "Perhaps we could get lunch then? Saturday? If you're free."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Crowley says, a bit too earnestly, but he can't help it. He never could. Not with Aziraphale.

**

[Next Chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971389#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189685420584/day-fifteen-laughter)


	17. Ice Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: fairy tale (ish) au, based on a tumblr prompt, magical creature crowley, human aziraphale, rated T

Aziraphale liked his little life in the countryside. He liked being able to sell his books when he pleased - usually only to tourists who seemed to genuinely care for them. He liked his homey flat above his shop and he liked how this little town stayed quiet almost all year round.

It was idyllic and infinitely preferable to Aziraphale's years in the hustle and bustle of the city.

The only disappointing thing was the weather. The snow always hit harder here in the north, but Aziraphale thought it a reasonable exchange for his happiness the rest of the year.

A weekend of terrible snow had Aziraphale holed up inside, watching the cold flakes fall and grow icy when they hit the ground. On Tuesday, Aziraphale had finally bustled out of his shop to clear the path in front of his shop because he was out of milk and he needed to walk to market. He shovel had just hit snow when his eyes alighted on a hint of black and red peeking out of the white of the snow bank. It was terribly cold outside, but Aziraphale's curiosity got the better of him - it usually did. And when he drew closer he saw scales, a loosely coiled serpentine body. A snake. Why there was a snake about in such weather Aziraphale had no idea, perhaps it was a pet that had gotten loose. He didn't know anyone in town with a pet snake but that didn't mean no one had one.

He reached out and touched the scales. They were smooth and cold under his hand. Too cold. The snake shifted sluggishly and Aziraphale jerked his hand back, having to resist the urge to jump entirely away. Poor thing. From what Aziraphale knew about reptiles, they certainly weren't supposed to be tucked into snow banks. 

He reached out again and gathered the snake in his hands. It was less than a half meter in length and thin at that, easy enough to hold. Hurrying inside, Aziraphale held the snake close and murmured soothing words. Not that it did any good. It wasn't as if the snake could understand his silly reassurances.

Holding the snake against his sweater, Aziraphale shut the door behind him before hurrying inside to light the wood stove that heated his flat. He thought perhaps a hot water bottle would help so he bundled the snake in one of his tartan blankets and put the kettle on. The snake barely moved throughout the whole process and Aziraphale sincerely hoped it was still alive.

"There, there," he said for lack of something better as he gave it a tentative pat on the head. It didn't respond at all. Not even the sluggish movement from outside. Not a particularly promising sign.

With the stove going and a hot water bottle tucked close to the snake's coiled body, Aziraphale brought his preferred reading chair closer to the little bundle of snake and blanket and picked up the book he'd been reading. 

Aziraphale had no idea how much time had passed before he heard the tentative rustling of blankets. Putting aside his book, he moved to kneel in front of the stove, unfolding the blanket enough to see the black scales unwinding. A little head peeped out along with a red forked tongue.

"Oh!" Aziraphale exclaimed. "Aren't you the cutest thing? Are you feeling better?"

The snake slithered out of the blanket and over the hot water bottle before coming to rest atop Aziraphale's shoe. Putting out his hand, Aziraphale let it coil about his fingers until it settled, head resting on the vulnerable skin of his wrist.

Its tongue flickered out and Aziraphale couldn't contain a laugh. How adorable.

"Well, dear thing, are you hungry? I'm afraid I'm not certain what snakes eat besides mice. And you seem awfully small for a whole mouse."

The snake hissed and if Aziraphale didn't know better, he would have thought it sounded offended.

"Hmm, perhaps I can find something on the internet," Aziraphale pondered. He set the snake back down on the blanket and went into the den where he kept his old laptop. 

He had only just typed out "food for small snakes" when he felt a cold pressure winding it's way up his calf and back into his lap. "Oh, were you lonely?"

He gave the snake a little pat on the head and it's tongue flickered out, tickling the pad of his finger. 

The internet was only mildly helpful. Apparently, Aziraphale needed to feed the little snake bugs, but he didn't exactly have access to bugs at the moment. Fish also seemed on the menu so perhaps he could pick that up at the store once he left. Should he find some sort of box for the snake? He didn't exactly fancy letting it have run of his flat while he was out.

With some consternation, Aziraphale sat back in his chair. Could he take a snake to the store? Most likely not.

The snake was squirming, trying to climb up his sweater but not finding purchase. "Will you stay put, please?" Aziraphale admonished.

The snake stared at him. Then, suddenly, the snake grew warm and heavy. Aziraphale blinked and it wasn't a snake in his lap but, rather, a skinny man clad in black, hair the same red color as the snake's underbelly.

Aziraphale jerked back in his chair and gasped.

The man's mouth curled up in a wicked grin and Aziraphale realized his irises were slit down the middle. Snake eyes.

"Now aren't you interesting?" the man said, voice as sinuous and smooth as Aziraphale would expect from a snake.

"I've gotta run, but," he paused and gave Aziraphale a meaningful look, "I'll be back. I think I owe you a favor."

The man disappeared, leaving Aziraphale gaping.

What on earth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi folks, i wanted to say that i continue to be bowled over by the support for this oneshot collection. all of your comments have honestly made my holiday season so much brighter <3 <3


	18. Ornament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: established relationship, post apocalypse, misunderstandings, kissing (god they love kissing huh)

Aziraphale puts on his favorite Christmas record and snaps his fingers to summon his box of ornaments. He's been collecting decorations for years and while Crowley likes to tease him about his hoarding tendencies, he does so like the way the bookshop looks during the Christmas season. It's so homey and quaint and, well, Crowley can take his Scrooge attitudes elsewhere.

Aziraphale sniffs primly and nods his head as he opens up the box. The Christmas tree is already placed at the front of the shop and just needs its decorations. It's going to look lovely and the next time Crowley comes over, Aziraphale will crow over how nice it is until Crowley caves and compliments it too. The demon is so easy sometimes. 

Just the thought fills Aziraphale with so much love for Crowley, he feels like he's glowing with it. He hums to the low music and carefully chooses places for the ornaments. He likes the little round ones that shine bright like mirrors. He even uses more red than he has in previous years in deference to Crowley's color preferences. 

Oh, it's going to be so nice to spend Christmas together. Really together. The world didn't end and now Aziraphale can shower Crowley with all the love he's been holding back for so long. It's the perfect season for it. Aziraphale has already planned Christmas proper. They're going to get out of the city and spend some time alone. Just them and some wine and maybe a fire in the hearth so that it's romantic when -

Aziraphale blushes. His mind is going in a very particular direction that he tries not to entertain too often. After that first kiss in the Bentley immediately after the Ritz, Crowley had choked out a nervous _I'm in love with you_ which Aziraphale had returned enthusiastically. 

And, of course, their relationship has become more tactile since then. Crowley likes to put his head in Aziraphale's lap when he naps. And he always lets Aziraphale hold his hand when they are out and about.

And Crowley makes a little pleased noise whenever Aziraphale kisses him hello. Or goodbye. 

It's more than Aziraphale thought he could ever have.

And yet...

Is it really Aziraphale's fault that he loves the demon so much? And that this particular demon happens to be unfairly attractive and particularly good at devastating Aziraphale with a simple smile? No, Aziraphale thinks it is decidedly not his fault.

He's placing an ornament deep inside the branches when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye and nearly drops the ornament in shock.

"Goodness, gracious, Crowley, get out of there," Aziraphale chides. 

Crowley unfurls from one of the branches and slithers over, tongue flickering like he's laughing. Aziraphale lets him wind around his hand and up his arm before he settles around Aziraphale's neck. He can feel the little flicks of Crowley's tongue on his cheek and it should not be arousing but Aziraphale can't help himself around Crowley. In any form, apparently.

Aziraphale sighs and hangs up the ornament. 

"I don't know why you find it so entertaining to frighten me."

Crowley lets out an amused hiss and Aziraphale shakes his head. "Come along, you naughty thing," Aziraphale says and then regrets it because, well, it sounds a bit dirtier than he intended.

He places Crowley on his desk chair and is rewarded by the demon's swift transformation.

As expected, Crowley is smirking. He twists in the swivel chair and asks, "I scared you, huh?"

Aziraphale huffs. "I hardly expected you to be in the tree of all places. You hate the things."

Crowley stands and slinks over to him, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale's neck in a loose embrace. "Yes, but you like them so I'm trying to change my opinion. Give 'em a fighting chance and all."

Aziraphale melts a little at that and can't resist kissing Crowley because they're in love and he _can_.

Crowley makes that same pleased noise the way he always does, but instead of letting him pull away after a brief moment like he usually does, Aziraphale tugs him closer. Crowley tenses but then the hand on Aziraphale's shoulder is suddenly at the nape of his neck and Crowley's carefully parting Aziraphale's lips with his tongue. Aziraphale's fairly certain most of his body is turning to liquid as he returns the kiss. 

He grips Crowley's slim hips, loving the way his body feels against the gentle give of his own stomach. 

When Aziraphale slips his tongue into Crowley's mouth to give as good as he's getting, Crowley makes a needy noise against his mouth that Aziraphale immediately gets hard in his trousers. Before he can do anything about it, Crowley yanks himself away. His eyes are full yellow when he runs a hand through his hair and says, "Sorry, sorry. Got a bit carried away."

"Carried away?" Aziraphale repeats, confused. He wants Crowley to get carried away. As carried away as possible so they can get carried away together. 

"Yeah," Crowley says, fidgeting with his lapels as he stands up straight. "I know you don't - I know angels don't, er, do that sort of thing and I don't want you think we have to. 'Cause I'm fine with the way things are. More than fine. Obviously."

Crowley winces like he's embarrassed. "S'fine."

Aziraphale runs over that little speech in his head and says, "Are you saying we haven't had sex because you think I don't want to?"

Crowley blinks several times in quick succession. "Wait...do you want to?"

"Yes, I bloody do," Aziraphale says, stomping his foot. "I thought you were nervous!"

Crowley swears. Then he holds out his hands and gestures for Aziraphale to come closer.

"Are you alright?" Aziraphale asks warily.

"Yes, of course. Come over here. I'm going to snog until you come in your trousers and then we're going back to my flat and not leaving for several days. At least."

They don't make it out of the bookshop but Crowley's right on one count. They don't go anywhere for several days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to back snake crowley content!!
> 
> can be found on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189721626389/day-seventeen-ornament)


	19. Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: post apocalypse, anthony acts of service crowley, pining crowley, first kiss

Crowley stares at the bowl and frowns. The lumpy dough looks right but how is he supposed to know? They don't teach baking to demons.

Why is he even doing this?

 _You're doing it because Aziraphale looked at you just right and you're pathetic over him_.

Yes, right. Of course. How could he bloody forget.

Homemade Christmas gifts. Aziraphale's idea. He'd said, _Oh, my dear, I think it would be so lovely to exchange something we made. Better than any other sort of gift, don't you think?_

Crowley had scowled and said, _Seems an awful lot of effort_.

And Aziraphale had gone all quiet and frowny and said, _I suppose that's why I wanted to. I wanted to put in effort for you_.

And that had gotten Crowley. Of course it fucking did.

So that's how he's ended up, in his previously immaculate kitchen, trying to make biscuits he thinks Aziraphale will like. So far he's finished chocolate chip, and a truly hideous American monstrosity called a _cowboy cookie_ that Aziraphale will probably like because it has all sorts of odd bits in it. Now he's just finished the almond shortbread and is realizing he might have gone a bit overboard.

 _Put in effort,_ Aziraphale had said. Not, spend an entire day working over a sodding oven and nicking your cuticles while rolling out biscuits because you're in love with me.

Crowley considers throwing the shortbread dough into the bin but decides against it. He put in a lot of hard work and refuses to let it go to waste. 

He rolls out the dough, gets flour in his hair and on his face. He can feel it tickling but it'll have to fucking wait. He's making biscuits and the more he focuses the faster this embarrassing thing will be done. Might as well spill his guts into a bowl and roll it out with sugar. Every sodding biscuit screams _I love you, I love you, I love you._

Just like him, isn't it? Pour out all his love in three dozen biscuits and say _ha-ha,_ _just thought you'd like it. Didn't take me much time. Hour or two._

He could lie and say he bought them but so many are lopsided and ugly that Aziraphale would never believe him. 

He cuts out the little shortbread squares and tries to not rage at himself as he puts them in the oven. He turns on a timer and then sighs, letting his hands fall to the worktop as he hangs his head.

What has it been? A year? Two years? The apocalypse happened and Crowley had all this stupid hope bundled inside him. He'd been idiot enough to think, _Aziraphale loves you, he just feels like it's too dangerous. Don't you remember? He said too fast, not 'no.'_

Well, more fool him for believing that. 

"Oh."

He hears from behind him. He knows that exhalation. Of course Aziraphale would pop in right now. While Crowley's a mess in his kitchen.

Before turning around, Crowley scrubs a hand over his face and plasters a smirk over it so Aziraphale won't see how defeated he feels.

It doesn't quite work. Not if Aziraphale's concerned expression is anything to go by.

"Crowley? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just tickety-boo," he half-says, half-sneers. "Here for a reason then?"

"Oh, yes, I - wait, are you _baking_?"

Crowley looks at his flour covered hands, the dusting of white over his shirt and trousers. A mess. He doesn't want Aziraphale to see him like this.

"What of it?" he asks carefully, hackles rising.

Aziraphale is standing beside him at the kitchen island, poking at the biscuits that have been cooling there. "Are these for me?" he asks, looking up at Crowley and there's something on his face that makes Crowley's heart turn over.

He grips the edge of the worktop and tries to stay still. "Yeah, I mean, you said homemade..."

Aziraphale turns to him and presses their mouths together, careful and earnest and sweet, and it pulls Crowley's heart right into his mouth.

When Aziraphale steps back, he has flour on his nose and his face is flushed.

"What was " - Crowley is surprised his mouth works -" What was that for?"

"Because you're perfect and I love you and you made me _biscuits_ and you're covered in flour and you're so perfectly adorable that I couldn't not kiss for a moment longer."

The speech makes Crowley feel a bit weak at the knees but Aziraphale's still holding him so he manages not to topple over. 

"But if you - why now?" Crowley finally manages to ask when the stars clear from his eyes.

Something nervous passes over Aziraphale's face. "I wasn't sure that you still wanted me. Not the way that I wanted you. If I've overstepped..."

Crowley feels like he might vomit. Or pass out. Or both. 

"You mean I could've - If I'd just said - wait, how long?" Crowley finally settles on, mind whirling with what ifs and regrets and _joy_.

"Years, darling," Aziraphale says, eyes soft and open. "So many years."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189739941189/day-eighteen-cookies)


	20. Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuation of ch 2, 8, and 15, pining, angst, aziraphale pov, post break up, reconciliation

Crowley is in his bookshop, hands shoved in his pockets and looking strung tight as a bowstring. When Aziraphale offers to take his coat, he shakes his head minutely, looking everywhere but at Aziraphale. Trying not to sigh, Aziraphale hangs up his own coat.

The snow from the last few days is still on the ground outside and the cold has not let up. He's thankful Crowley was willing to make the trek from Mayfair so that they can go to lunch. But Aziraphale shouldn't be surprised. Crowley has always been willing to set aside his own needs for Aziraphale. He's always been so considerate.

Except for the one time he wasn't.

Aziraphale pushes through the awful twisting of his heart and brushes his hand over Crowley's elbow, trying not to take it too personally when the demon jerks away. Crowley doesn't seem angry with him. He's said some things that make Aziraphale think he feels the same way he used to, that this is the same Crowley who had begged him not to go.

They both have their regrets but more than anything Aziraphale regrets walking out, letting his anger guide him.

 _Crowley, someone died_.

Aziraphale had never expected Crowley to give up his demonic habits. He loved him the way he was, foibles and all. But Crowley - in all the years they had known each other - had never directly caused a humans death - they always had miraculous escapes. He made dark jokes and was sometimes cruel but he'd always had a soft spot for humans. But one poorly planned interference with traffic, one fifteen care pile up, and one irreversible accident drove a wedge between.

Marjorie Wilson had been her name. Aziraphale attended her funeral, and Crowley hadn't. And they had fought, all the while Crowley's face changing from sneer, to heartbreak, to something empty. Aziraphale thinks killing that human had hurt Crowley as much as it did Aziraphale. He seemed carved out now, broken in places Aziraphale couldn't see.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he offers. They need to leave for lunch soon but he doesn't like how pale Crowley looks, more skeletal than normal. He looks like he's been wasting away. Aziraphale wants to sit him down in front of a fire, wrap him up in blankets, and feed him until he looks alive again. Until his eyes glimmer beneath his glasses and the heavy slope of his shoulders disappears.

He doesn't know if he can. He doesn't know if Crowley wants him to. Two years should be nothing in the face of their history and yet it feels vast as an ocean. 

"Yeah, alright," Crowley says with a practiced shrug that makes his hair flop forward over the creases of his forehead. Aziraphale suppresses the desire to reach out and brush it back. Crowley's not as put together as he used to be. No carefully styled hair and devilish smirks to be seen. This is Crowley uncovered and Aziraphale aches and aches.

Crowley had covered up his grief with sarcasm and bluster and Aziraphale should have _known,_ should have seen his regret etched into him. But in his own grief and anger, he'd blamed Crowley. He'd shouted and railed and he'd left. He shouldn't have left. They should have talked. It had taken so long for Aziraphale to realize that Crowley wasn't being heartless. He had been protecting himself as best he could.

More than anything Aziraphale wishes - not for the first time - that he had handled things differently. 

**

[Next Chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971422#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189756887299/day-nineteen-wish)


	21. Reindeer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can thank a bar where i live for this idea. it, as most of the aus in this series, is wild  
> chapter tags: human au, meet cute, hallmark movie tbh, aziraphale has a beard (i had to make a counterpoint for crowley has a beard didn't i??  
> aziraphale inspo can be seen in this lovely art [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189728874299/eunyisadoran-actualfrog-excuse-me-while-i)
> 
> reindeer aka caribou

Crowley pushed open the door to the bar and was welcomed by a rush of heat couched in the smell of beer and old cigarettes. It was a relief from the snowy frigid air and would do just fine for Crowley's purposes. One bar was as good as any other in his opinion.

Elbowing through the small crowd gathered watching some sporting event, Crowley made his way to the bar and leaned against it, one arm coming down flat over the polished worktop as he waited for the bartender to notice him. 

It was Crowley's first night in this awful cold northern town in Canada and he didn't want to be there. He wanted to be back in his London flat with his good whiskey and his favorite take away. But no, he had to come out here and shut down his great uncle's farm. Sell off the last of it, wash his hands of this nonsense and then he could go home and forget about it all.

"Can I help you?"

Crowley redirected his attention to the bartender in front of him and his voice abruptly caught in his throat. What was a man like that doing in a place like this? This bar deserved a bartender with ragged hands and a weather creased face, half hidden behind a patchy beard. Some man named Dennis or Carl who'd slide your drink at you without caring if you caught it or not.

Not...not...not this blue eyed, blond haired man who looked so soft and _kind_. Sure he had the beard but it was tight about his face, the light blonde bristles emphasizing the pink plushness of his mouth. He was wearing a tartan button up under a thick knit cardigan that looked like it would feel good fisted in Crowley's hands.

"Anyone in there?" the man asked, looking amused, and Crowley forced himself to reply.

"Any recommendations?" he asked, his flirtatious tone entirely by accident. He'd meant to get the cheapest thing on tap and a lot of it.

The man smiled at him, making his eyes crinkle as the curl of his mouth unfurled under his beard. "Well, in order for me to recommend something, I'd need to know a bit more about your preferences."

Now that he'd said more than a few words, Crowley realized the man wasn't Canadian. He had an English accent. So he was...

"Where are you from?" Crowley asked before he could stop himself. He didn't exactly need to pry into some stranger's life. No matter how attracted to him he was.

The bartender brightened immediately. "Oh, London! you sound quite the Londoner yourself. What brings a fellow Englishman to Swan River?" he asked, saying Englishman like it was some sort of silly secret they now shared.

"I'm, er, I'm Anthony Crowley. I'm here to shut down my uncle's place. He owned a farm outside of town," Crowley explained feeling suddenly hamfisted and awkward.

The man's eyes took on a sympathetic gleam. How could _eyes_ be so expressive? "Oh well, I'm sorry you're here under less than auspicious circumstances."

He reached out and patted Crowley's hand where it was laid atop the countertop. The short contact made Crowley's whole body grow taut with interest. Who knew he was into chubby blonde men with beards? Certainly not him. 

"Well, what would you like? Drink on the house," the bartender declared before plucking a cocktail shaker from beneath the bar and raising one eyebrow at Crowley in question. 

"Alright," Crowley said, second arm coming to the bar top so he could lean forward. "I'm a whiskey man. Do your worst."

The bartender rolled his eyes a bit playfully and said, "Of course you're a whiskey man."

"I don't know what that means but I'll take it as a compliment."

The bartender flashed him another smile as he pulled out some brand of whiskey Crowley didn't recognize. 

In the backlit bar, the man's hair was a white gold. It almost looked like a halo and Crowley had the entirely daft thought that he looked like an angel. He put a hand to his forehead and sighed. He needed a drink if he was comparing nice bartenders to celestial beings.

The bartender put a glass in front of him. "A manhattan," he declared. "Not too sour, not too sweet, but extra strong." He winked at Crowley. "You look like you need it."

Crowley wrapped one hand around the cup. "Thank you."

The bartender nodded. "Well, you know where I am if you need me."

And then he was off, helping another patron as Crowley sipped at his manhattan. 

He realized he'd never gotten his name.

But then the bar grew too busy for Crowley to strike up another conversation. In fact, it got too busy for Crowley to want to stick around at all so he stumbled outside into the cold mountain air and lit a cigarette, putting it to his whiskey slick lips.

He looked up at the smoke as it drifted in front of the the neon sign above him, _Caribou._ It flickered a hellish red and Crowley wondered what an angel like that was doing working in a place like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s/o to @euny_sloane for saying they needed more bear!zira. i do try to deliver.
> 
> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189774650629/day-twenty-reindeer)


	22. Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fae au, human!aziraphale, continuation of [ice storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51811009)
> 
> for @ashfae
> 
> (posting early due to travel schedule)

Aziraphale had decided to put the little snake incident out of his mind. There had certainly not been a snake and decidedly not a snake that had transformed into a man in his lap. A man that had given him a rakish grin before disappearing.

No. Certainly...certainly not.

While winter was in full swing, the worst of the storms had passed and the snow was beginning to melt under the winter sun. It made it easier for Aziraphale to fall back into his normal habits. A daily walk about the town, a stop at the store, occasionally pausing at the cafe to check in on Anathema who was still in a flurry of trying to get her business in order. Aziraphale offered to help - he had experience starting a business after all - but Anathama was, and always had been, willfully stubborn.

A week after the snake incident that wasn't, Aziraphale had closed the bookshop to hurry down to the grocer's and pick up tomatoes. He'd been thinking about a nice caprese salad all day but had used the last of his tomatoes the day prior for breakfast. The sun was bright but there was quite a chill in the air so Aziraphale had bundled up and taken the walk as quickly as he could.

Tomatoes secured, he gripped the bag in his hand and returned to the bookshop only to find a box on his stoop. Strange. Post wasn't supposed to be delivered today. Scooping up the box - oh it was light - he unlocked the shop and tottered inside.

He left it by the till and hummed to himself as he went upstairs to deposit his tomatoes. It was going to be a nice evening. A nice salad and a glass of bordeaux. Perhaps he'd crack open the book of poetry he'd been saving for a quiet evening.

Returning downstairs, he distractedly opened the box to see what sort of thing he'd been sent, mind still on his tomatoes.

He dropped the box and was met with a squeak of protest.

Someone had sent him a _mouse_.

Peering back inside the box, Aziraphale watched as the mouse scurried across the cardboard bottom, uselessly scratching at the walls as if trying to get out. "Oh, you poor dear," Aziraphale said, pity overtaking whatever shock he'd felt.

Well, he'd just leave the poor thing outside and get along with his day.

And not think about what sort of creature would leave a mouse on his doorstep like an offering.

Certainly not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189785568959/day-twenty-one-gift)


	23. Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ch tags: continuation of break up au, reconciliation, pining, crowley pov

Crowley takes the tea Aziraphale hands him and holds the cup tight in his hands. Aziraphale has always preferred light flowery patterns and today is no different. The china feels hot under his fingers. And unbearably fragile.

"How was your week?" he asks finally. They haven't met since that day at the pub, but Aziraphale had asked him here. To lunch. He tries not to hope for too much but Aziraphale is sitting across from him in his desk chair with Crowley on the couch, a mirror of so many days for so many years. It makes Crowley's heart ache.

"Oh, alright," Aziraphale answers, fiddling with his own cup and then his waistcoat. His eyes are darting about. Clearly nervous. Crowley wonders if it's his presence making him uncomfortable. If he should throw in the towel and leave.

"I've been cleaning up the shop. It's not quite ready to re-open you see. A lot of work to be done." Aziraphale's gaze finally settles on him and something about his mouth softens. It's a brand in Crowley's chest. Too hot in his shriveled, icy heart.

"Right, yeah, makes sense," Crowley replies noncommittally. He doesn't want the tea he's holding but it's warm and he tries to savor that. He's been cold for far too long.

Aziraphale stands abruptly and takes the tea from his hands. "I don't know what I was thinking. You abhor tea. Let me - let me find something else to warm you up."

Crowley bites his tongue so he doesn't say _how about you? You could warm me up perfectly. Just let me hold you in my arms for a minute. I'll be warm for you too if you'll have me._

Aziraphale disappears around the edge of a bookshelf and returns with a soft blanket that Crowley recognizes. They'd used it often enough in Aziraphale's bed. The angel tucking it around him on cold nights and kissing his cheek with a whispered _I love you_ , _darling_. He wraps it around Crowley now, frozen as he is, unable to move under the feeling of Aziraphale bustling around him, clucking his tongue.

"You should really dress warmer this time of year, my dear," he says before he pulls away. Crowley almost reaches out and catches his hand but Aziraphale moves away before he can.

The angel sits back in his chair. "Will you be alright walking to the restaurant? I'm sure I have a scarf you can borrow."

Crowley peers at him. He fingers the soft fabric of the blanket. " _Your_ scarf?" he says, risking a little bit of teasing. They used to be like that. Affectionately mocking each other whenever they could. "Probably some awful tan thing. It'd ruin the aesthetic."

Aziraphale's eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughs. "Of course, dear. No need to ruin your _look_."

Crowley can't help but smile back at him. Because Aziraphale's laugh? It's always made him feel warm.

**

[Next Chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971452#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189811418454/day-twenty-two-warmth)


	24. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: ghost crowley, guardian angel aziraphale, alternate universe, rated T

Clarissa was a lovely girl. By far one of Aziraphale's favorite charges and when she bought an old building in Soho with the express purpose of turning it into a bookshop, Aziraphale couldn't have been happier. His favorite thing to do between assignment was to sit in his cozy cottage in the south and sip wine while he read through all the books he couldn't read during his assignments.

Clarissa was an easy charge. She didn't do anything particularly dangerous so Aziraphale rarely had to grant her luck or protection. Rather, she was a sensitive spirit and, according to Gabriel, set to do so much good in the world based on just her existence that she needed a Guardian Angel to keep up her spirits and make sure she fulfilled her destiny of touching all the lives around her. 

So he watched over her as she prepared the bookshop for opening, cleaning off inset shelves and paying contractors to repair old beams. It should have been simple, but suddenly, her previously calm existence began to take a rather calamitous turn. Aziraphale had to be by her side at all hours, hidden as he was in the ethereal plane he doubted she could sense him overmuch but he typically liked to keep a bit more distance between himself and his charges. At least a few meters.

But he couldn't because shelves kept collapsing and stairs kept giving way and even as old as the shop was, Aziraphale couldn't figure out why.

So with his diligent help, Clarissa was able to open her bookshop just before the Christmas season. As had been her goal since purchasing the place. 

Aziraphale settled in to watch over her first day of business from the vantage of the second floor mezzanine. She was using it mostly for storage and it was closed to the public so his energy wouldn't be noticed by anyone.

Or so he thought.

"An angel, huh? Shouldn't have been surprised. Bastards. The lot of you."

Aziraphale nearly jumped out of the ethereal plane and into the corporeal one. Next to him was some sort of being that Aziraphale didn't recognize. He radiated energy that made Aziraphale's incorporeal hairs stand on end. Dressed like something out of a noir film, the being looked like he should be taking a drag from a cigarette and blowing the smoke out of the side of his mouth. He flashed Aziraphale a lopsided grin, made terrifying by the absence of pupils in his cloud white eyes.

"Who the devil are you?" Aziraphale demanded.

The specter smiled and his teeth were a bit too sharp. "Not quite the devil, angel. But pretty close."

Aziraphale swallowed and stepped a bit further away. "Listen here, you - you fiend. Leave this place immediately."

"Can't," the ghost said carelessly as he slipped onto the ground and let his spectral feet dangle between the bars of the railing. "Spirit's tied to the place. It'd have to be knocked down for me to go anywhere. Besides, even if I could leave I'd probably be dragged right to hell. Not exactly on my list of holiday destinations."

He looked at Aziraphale from the corner of his full white eyes. "'Sides, more fun here. People to torment and all."

Aziraphale gasped. "It was you!"

"Finally putting two and two together then? Thought you'd be a bit smarter than that. Seemed the bookish type."

"Excuse me, it's not every day that I deal with - with _poltergeist_ s."

The ghost ticked up his finger and waggled it Aziraphale. "Nuh-uh, I prefer malevolent spirit."

Aziraphale let out a long breath through his nose. "Well, whatever you are, you best get used to tormenting no one at all. That's my charge down there and I'm supposed to guard her safety from things like you."

The spirit wrinkled his nose, unnatural eyes crinkling. "Thing? Bit rude. Name's Crowley. If you'd like to know."

Aziraphale scoffed and returned his attention to the shop floor. "I'd rather not, thank you. I'll stay out of your way, if you stay out of mine."

Crowley tilted his chin and looked at Aziraphale blankly. A slow, wicked grin came over his face before he said, "Sure thing, angel."

He snapped his fingers and a pile of books on the shop floor fell over. Aziraphale gasped, leaning over the railing to use his powers to stop the books from falling on a patron. He sighed in relief when the unsuspecting woman hopped out of the way and shook her head like she'd had quite the fright.

Aziraphale turned back to chide the specter beside him. But Crowley was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189829445969/day-twenty-three-ghosts)


	25. Holiday Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: rated t, ace friendly, post apocalypse

Aziraphale turned over the card in his hand and smiled indulgently. How quaint.

"Crowley!" he cried and the demon appeared between the bookshelves, hair a bit mussed like he'd been laying down. Aziraphale liked when he looked like that. Less put together. He turned his attention back to the holiday card in his hand and fiddled with the edge. He shouldn't be thinking of Crowley like that.

"Yeah?" Crowley asked, slinking up to the till and leaning against the worktop, staring at Aziraphale expectantly from behind his glasses.

"Look," Aziraphale said excitedly, thrusting the card into Crowley's hands. "Madame Tracy is getting married!" 

Crowley took it like a particularly stinky towel, holding it at arm's length as he read it. "Shadwell, huh? She could do a bit better don't you think?"

Aziraphale clucked his tongue. "It's not our place to say, Crowley. They're in love."

Crowley very clearly rolled his eyes behind his glasses. "He's a prick."

Aziraphale glared. "He's a bit rough around the edges, certainly. But that's hardly fair."

"You and your rose-colored glasses," Crowley said, shaking his head and sounding fond. Aziraphale watched as he read over the card, a small smile tugging on Crowley's mouth. 

Aziraphale had been alive for a very long time. He'd seen many things. But so far, one of his favorites, was the sight of Crowley desperately trying not to smile and failing.

Crowley dropped the card as if burned and Aziraphale started at the sudden movement. Snatching it from where Crowley had dropped it, Aziraphale asked, "What was that about?"  
  
"Er, nothing. It's - nevermind."

Aziraphale turned over the card and read through the personal note Tracy had scratched out beneath the rote message.

_Aziraphale -_

_Happy Christmas! I hope you and your husband can make it down for the wedding. We'd love to have you._

_Love,_

_Tracy_

Aziraphale almost dropped the card as well.

"Oh," he said, swallowing hard. "She must have...misunderstood."

When he looked at Crowley, the demon was staring at him. Aziraphale watched as his Adam's apple bobbed. "Misunderstood. Right."

From some untapped depth, Aziraphale grasped at his own strength of will. He was scared and he was tired of it. How long had he been terrified? He didn't need to be anymore. Not of Crowley. Not of this. "We could still go to the wedding. Together."

"Together." There was a question there but Aziraphale had decided it had been long enough. The world didn't end. Now or never. 

"Yes, er, together. Properly together, if you'd like."

Aziraphale felt as if his heart was in his mouth, beating against the back of his teeth while he waited for Crowley to respond.

"Properly," Crowley squeaked.

"If you'd like," Aziraphale said, certain he sounded just as terrified. 

"Aziraphale..." Crowley started carefully but then he sucked in a breath before continuing softly, "Yeah, I would. I would like that."

"Oh thank goodness," Aziraphale said, sagging against the counter. "I have no idea what I would have done if you'd said no."

The half-smile from before returned and quickly bloomed into a genuine grin that had Aziraphale's heart racing. 

"So..." Crowley began, leaning over the worktop. He was _flirting_. "Does this _properly_ _together_ start with the wedding or..."

"It can start whenever you like," Aziraphale said and then they were both caught in the moment, smiling at each other and feeling very silly. Well, Aziraphale was feeling very silly, but he couldn't speak for Crowley.

Crowley took Aziraphale's hand and said, "Right now works for me, I think."

Right now would do just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189847844789/day-twenty-four-holiday-card)


	26. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: continuation of breakup AU, pining, angst, crowley pov, reconciliation

Aziraphale still wants to see him.

It isn't just lunch and a _see you soon but actually never_. It's lunch and a walk and a meandering conversation back to the bookshop where Aziraphale offers him wine - _oh your favorite if I recall_.

It happens on Saturday and then the next week. It's almost Christmas and they see each other twice a week and Crowley can't believe it. Every second, he feels lucky. A sort of wild and crazy lucky that makes him behave like a fool. He feels so lucky that he sometimes imagines that saying _I love you_ or reaching out for Aziraphale's hand wouldn't shatter this new thing building between them.

But it hadn't been that different before all this. For years it had been Crowley stuffing his too big heart into it's hard-earned shell. A prison of chiton he'd grown himself.

And he keeps expecting Aziraphale to get tired of him. But he never does. When had he convinced himself that Aziraphale would get tired? Millennia before this and he hadn't. Even in friendship. Years together and not then.

But now, picking over the wreckage of their old relationship, Crowley feels too much. Is too much. Aziraphale won't be able to handle that too much longer. Crowley knows it. So he savors every second like a man dying.

Pathetic. Cold. Dying.

He's so caught up in the euphoria of these precious seconds that he forgets the truth of the last two years and he lets Aziraphale meet him at his apartment on Christmas Day. They were going to go to the cinema and then wherever Aziraphale wanted to go.

But Crowley forgot the truth of himself. The cold hollow bones of his apartment, empty but for broken shards of his hopes.

"Oh, love, what happened?" Aziraphale gasps, hand going to his heart the minute he steps into Crowley's foyer. Crowley wants to answer but all he can hear is the word love ringing in his ears. 

Aziraphale rushes to the side of the failing spider plant and runs his hands over the mottled leaves. He looks back at Crowley with wide eyes. They're glittering and Crowley has to stop himself from lurching forward, gathering Aziraphale in his arms. He made Aziraphale look like this. His neglect. This pitiful representation of his heart.

Aziraphale seems to see something in Crowley's face because his expression grows resigned, an old ghost of that powerful angel who could decide something and then see it done. 

"Well, we'll just have to get you some new ones. Restart your garden. Would you like that?"

Crowley swallows. Wonders if Aziraphale knows what it feels like he's asking. "I'd love that."

Aziraphale brushes his hand over Crowley's wrist. "Once it stops snowing? We can go to that shop a few blocks over. That one you liked? If it's still there."

"Yeah it's still there. Last I checked."

Aziraphale nods. And smiles.

**

[Next Chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971515#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189865399859/day-twenty-five-love)


	27. Cider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: continuation of friends with benefits AU, historical omens, angst, pining, explicit
> 
> culture note: cider in the UK is an alcoholic beverage (aka what is referred to as Hard Cider in north america) so this is about hard cider

"Tastes like apples," Aziraphale said, smacking his lips as he lowered his cup. He liked the slick apple taste. Though perhaps it made him drink a bit too fast. "Don't you like apples?"

Crowley looked at him out of the corner of his eye, smirking that way he did whenever Aziraphale got drunk faster than he did. Like he was laughing. "You're drunk, Aziraphale."

"What of it? Wasn't that- wasn't that the point?"

Crowley leaned back and looked at the sky. The desert was slightly cold this time of year, but with the alcohol to warm them it didn't much matter. Crowley had snatched Aziraphale - and a jug of cider from one of the less observant Roman guards - and brought them to this little secluded roof on the outskirts of town. To get sozzled, he'd said.

"The point was to have you try cider. Like everything else, you're woefully behind the times."

Aziraphale snorted. "Woefully."

Crowley just smirked. 

Aziraphale liked Crowley's mouth. He liked the thin line of it. He liked that when he grinned, Aziraphale could see his slightly crooked and too long incisors. He liked the sharp words that came out of that mouth, an invitation for banter, for a friendly fight.

Aziraphale only thought these things when he was drunk. Truly plastered. Blurry-edged, numb-fingered plastered.

But he was thinking them now.

Crowley was staring at the stars. And Aziraphale was staring at Crowley.

"Kiss me," Aziraphale said, words honey thick.

Crowley tilted his head lazily and there was that smile - crooked beautiful teeth. "Didn't know that was on the menu."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to retort but Crowley was wrapping his cool fingers around the back of Aziraphale's neck and tugging him forward so their mouths met, a drag of lips that had Aziraphale's heart racing.

"Is there anything else you want?" Crowley asked, mouth a bare centimeter away as he stroked Aziraphale's nape, the delicate scrape of his nails sending shivers down Aziraphale's spine.

Aziraphale couldn't answer. He wanted Crowley's mouth on his, his hands on his bare skin. Crowley. It felt like always Crowley.

When Crowley kissed him again, it was sweet apples and the barest cinnamon, a languid slide of tongues that blurred into teeth as Crowley slid his hand under Aziraphale's robe.

"Good to know I've still got it," Crowley said with a wry smirk when his hand found Aziraphale already hard. Of course he was already hard. Crowley's mouth was so hot on his, the center of a cold universe. He moved his hand and Aziraphale hissed.

Aziraphale sometimes did this between their liaisons. Brought himself off with his hand. But it was never like this. Not this steady heat, this miraculously slick hand, being surrounded by a smoky familiar scent. 

"Oh that's good, yes," Aziraphale stuttered when Crowley twisted his wrist just right.

"Yeah, I remember."

They'd traded messy hand jobs in Hattusa and again after Bethlehem and all Aziraphale had learned was that Crowley had a remarkable memory when it came to what brought him over the edge.

"How fast do you think I can get you off? You like it fast," Crowley said and Aziraphale had learned that. Crowley liked to talk. "Like the feel of my hand on your cock, do you? Knowing I'm going to make you come? Are you thinking about me fucking you? Or is this enough? Just you, fucking into my hand over and over and over."

Aziraphale came suddenly, pleasure slipping through him like the tugging of a loose thread For a moment, he wished he wasn't so drunk, that the cider hadn't muffled the edge of his orgasm. Because then it would have been harsh, painful. A breaking. The way it should be.

Without warning, Crowley's hand retreated and Aziraphale found himself dry and put together. 

"You like that, angel?" Crowley asked, picking up his cup with his now clean hand and drinking what was left. "Maybe we can do it again sometime."

At this point, they both knew they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189885306994/day-twenty-six-cider)


	28. Champagne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: rated T, established relationship, fluff

Crowley pilfers two bottles of champagne from behind the bar - which is open anyway but nobody's going to ruin his fun - and drags a giggling, half-drunk Aziraphale out of the reception tent.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale cries, delighted as he slaps at Crowley's hand where it's wrapped around his elbow. He doesn't let go until they're halfway up the hill behind the tent, the fairy lights strung all throughout lighting the thing up from the inside. 

Aziraphale collapses onto the ground with no regard for his white suit as he dissolves into a fit of giggle. But it won't stain if it knows what's good for it. Crowley gives it a bit of an extra stink eye to make sure it's properly terrified as he slumps down into the grass next to Aziraphale.

It should be cold here in Tadfield just after Christmas but it's a balmy 20 degrees and Crowley shrugs off his coat to use as a makeshift seat. If both he and Aziraphale think there might be some lingering antichrist interference on the weather front, they're too polite to mention it. 

Whatever interference there may be ends up being good for Anathema and Newt's nuptials with no snow or rain to ruin their outdoor ceremony. Aziraphale has been enjoying himself and when Crowley tears his gaze away from the tent where _I Only Have Eyes for You_ is playing, he sees the angel struggling with the cork of the champagne bottle, starting to look a bit red in the face as he strains to remove it.

Crowley laughs. "Let me do it, angel."

Huffing, Aziraphale hands back the bottle and Crowley pops it open with a quick twist of his powers. "Want a glass or..."

Aziraphale snatches it back and takes a deep pull followed by a happy sigh. "Oh, delightful."

It's alright stuff but Crowley's not about to ruin Aziraphale's good mood by pointing out its mediocrity. 

Crowley leans back on his hands and stares up at the open sky. Out here in Tadfield they can see the stars more easily. It's a new moon tonight so the only lights are those twinkling above them and those at the base of the hill lighting up the tent. It's romantic and Crowley tries not to be embarrassed by that the way he used to. He takes the bottle back from Aziraphale and takes his own drink.

Aziraphale reaches out and places his hand over the back of Crowley's and when Crowley looks at him he's smiling wide and besotted and it makes Crowley's heart twist up with want. They're in love and these days it's ok to want. Crowley forgets sometimes. 

But he has Aziraphale to remind him.

"What a lovely ceremony," Aziraphale says, matching Crowley's posture as they both lean back and look at the sky. "They do seem so happy."

"They do indeed," Crowley says, taking another drink before passing it to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale drinks and then his thumb is drawing circles over the back of Crowley's hand. "Do you ever think about...you know..."

Crowley thinks his heart might have stopped.

"Oh, nevermind," Aziraphale says, shaking his head and looking away.

"Angel," Crowley says quickly, quietly. "Finish that sentence. Please."

Aziraphale looks at him and yes, he's tipsy but his eyes are watering from more than too much drink, glistening like stars as they reflect the fairy lights. "Getting married?"

"All the time," Crowley says and he means it. He used to fantasize about it, being able to declare his feelings to anyone who asked. Wearing a ring. "And do you...want to?"

Aziraphale tugs on his wrist until he leans closer and he can place a warm hand on Crowley's jaw. "If it's you? Anything."

And Aziraphale kisses him and Crowley feels like that bottle of champagne, all bubbles and light as his stomach flutters with excitement. He's been in love for so long that he forgets that there's still more to feel when it comes to Aziraphale.

They lay back in the grass, trading kisses and low endearments, and Crowley knocks the champagne bottle with his boot. It rolls down the hill until it collides with one of the poles of the tent. But it's fine. It knows better than to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189901425279/day-twenty-seven-champagne)


	29. Snowball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: reverse stardew omens, fluff, romance, human au

Aziraphale hovers in the doorway to the coop as Crowley taps at the heater with his wrench.

"I can't thank you enough," Aziraphale gushes, wringing his hands. "The hens surely appreciate it. They're not too fond of wayward hooves in the cow barn."

He wants Crowley to show him what he's doing but he doesn't want to make the man uncomfortable. It doesn't help how painfully aware Aziraphale is of Crowley's presence. He can't help but notice the way his shirt rides up when he lays out on the ground to wriggle under the heater and fiddle with one of the bolts. That strip of skin has a fine dusting of hair and Aziraphale wants to trace the captivating lines of hip bones with his tongue.

Oh dear.

"No problem," Crowley grunts out from beneath the radiator. "Marnie said you were having some trouble."

"It just went out," Aziraphale explains with no little amount of distress. "And as much as I've gotten better with the farm I'm afraid machinery is still a bit beyond my skill set."

Crowley laughs and slips out from under the heater. More of his vulnerable belly shows, pale and flat and Aziraphale has to swallow against another wave of desire to touch.

"Just looks like a bad coil. Should be able to replace it right now. Your hens will be home in a tick."

Crowley gives him one of his lopsided dimpled smiles and Aziraphale's certain hes going to combust with how hard he's blushing.

Flustered, Aziraphale says, "Let me, er, get you something. A drink? I mean water? I've got lemonade if you'd like. Or perhaps something warm?"

Crowley laughs. "Water's good. Don't go through any trouble on my behalf."

"You're going through quite a bit of trouble for me. Some water isn't a hardship."

"Well, I wont complain."

Steadily growing more embarrassed, Aziraphale stammers an excuse and disappears through the coop door and into the cold weather. The wind whips at his cheeks, cooling his blush. He should certainly get himself under control. The poor man has just gone through quite the ordeal and hardly needs the attentions of a bumbling farmer.

He spends a bit too long in his house, taking deep breaths and trying to convince himself to not bring every beverage and snack he has in the house back to Crowley. He manages to talk himself down to a sandwich and water, which he walks back to the coop with some trepidation.

Crowley's got a burned out coil in his lap and a streak of dirt on his forehead as he frowns in concentration, screwing on the new part with his clever fingers. Aziraphale nearly drops the sandwich plate but manages to set it down on the top of one of the feed barrels as he brings himself together. 

With a satisfied grunt, Crowley releases the coil and levers himself to his feet, plugging the radiator in with gusto and looking satisfied when it begins to thrum.

He beams at Aziraphale which is awful because it's beautiful.

"Good as new," he declares and then he raises a questioning eyebrow at Aziraphale who gestures lamely at the lunch he brought.

"A, er, thank you. Of sorts."

Crowley laughs, a gruff sort of unpracticed sound and snatches one half of the sandwich from the plate.

"Share with me?" he asks, gesturing at the second half.

Aziraphale takes it carefully, terribly aware of his neighbor as Crowley takes the first bite. Chews. Swallows. He's never really thought about how much he likes cooking for people until he came to Pelican Town. He likes the way people smile when they eat. He particularly likes the way Crowley looks when he takes a second bite.

"So what brought you to Pelican Town?"

Aziraphale swallows around the bite of sandwich in his mouth. "My great-grandfather passed away and left me this farm. I was...suffice it to say I wasn't very happy at my job in the city. With my...with the way my life was. So I wasn't leaving much behind."

Crowley just looks at him, clear hazel eyes nearly gold in the bright lights of the coop. "You like it then? Think you might stay?"

"I love it," Aziraphale says firmly. "I'm happier than I've ever been."

Crowley gives him an unreadable smile and then takes the final bite of his sandwich before dusting off his hands.

"Let's get those girls back home."

It takes Aziraphale a moment to realize Crowley's talking about the chickens. But when he does, he tries to protest. You've helped enough, he tries to say. Don't worry about it.

But Crowley waves off his excuses and they end up cornering Aziraphale's chickens in the barn. The cows seem disgruntled by the intrusion, looking at them askance as they munch sullenly at their feed. And it ends up being fun. Ridiculously fun. Aziraphale chases Ravioli, his oldest chicken, directly into Crowley's arms. Crowley scoops it up and runs a hand between its wings. Ravioli lets out a pleased chirp before being relocated and settling in by the radiator.

Next is Petunia who is more recalcitrant, but Crowley seems to have some sort of chicken magic and coaxes her out from behind the water tank. She fluffs up when Crowley picks her up and Crowley laughs, that same gruff sound that brings Aziraphale so much joy that he ends up laughing too.

It's Snowball that's the hardest to get ahold of. Aziraphale chases her between the cows and she squawks in protest before darting between hay bales. Both he and Crowley are breathing hard as they collapse on the ground, backs against the bales. Crowley's still laughing and Aziraphale feels startlingly happy. It's nice to feel close to someone like this. Friends. Inconvenient attraction or no.

"Didn't exactly expect to be chasing chickens today," Crowley says, pushing a hand through his sweaty hair.

"I appreciate the help," Aziraphale says, patting Crowley's hand mindlessly and his stomach turns over when Crowley smiles again.

That dimple. That devastating dimple.

Snowball bursts out between the hay bales, breaking the moment and settling in Crowley's lap with a decided squawk.

Crowley lets Snowball fluff herself out in his lap and then pets her head. "You're a sweet girl, aren't you?"

Aziraphale has to bite his lip to keep from grinning like a loon. Crowley smiling is enough to make him melt. But this? His quiet pleasure makes Aziraphale's heart go wild.

If Crowley didn't have a lap full of Snowball, he was fairly certain he'd do something unwise, like launch himself across the distance and kiss him.

He's thankful that he has a reason not to and resolves to give Snowball a few extra pets that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i write this all the time but wow your continued support of this collection has blown me away and im so thankful for it and every single one of you <3  
> posted on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/post/189921306394/day-twenty-eight-snowball)


	30. Glitter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: book omens, established relationship, fluff  
> 

Crowley burst into the shop in a spray of silver and gold that has Aziraphale throwing up a wall of power on instinct. Glitter? In his shop?

Pounding on the invisible wall, Crowley looked truly distressed as he shouted, "Angel, let me in!"

Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest. "You're covered in glitter. I can't have that in my shop. It will destroy the more sensitive volumes."

Crowley snapped his fingers and most of the glitter disappeared. But not all of it.

Aziraphale felt a twinge of concern but kept the shield up. "What is this from?"

Crowley shifted on his feet and snapped his fingers again. Nothing happened. He still glimmered in the folds of his coat and shirt. He let out a long groan. "It won't go away!"

"How did you get covered in the stuff in the first place?"

Crowley sniffed and looked away. "It was an accident."

Aziraphale drew closer and narrowed his eyes. "What sort of accident?"

"Alright _fine_. I summoned some to put in your Christmas gift as a joke but I summoned too much and now it's everywhere in my apartment and I can't get rid of it."

"You were going to give me glitter?" Aziraphale asked, horrified. 

"It was a _joke_."

"A poor one," Aziraphale sniffed before grabbing his coat. He looked Crowley up and down and snapped his fingers. The rest of the glitter disappeared. 

Crowley sighed in relief. "I knew you'd be able to do it."

"Yes, yes. Flattery will get you nowhere. Let's go to yours. I'll miracle the place clean."

"Bless you, angel," Crowley said, sounding relieved.

Aziraphale gasped and pressed a hand to his chest. Crowley must be in a state if he was _blessing_ things. "It's just glitter, my dear. Surely you don't mean that."

"Slip of the tongue?" Crowley offered awkwardly.

"I'll allow it," Aziraphale said diplomatically, holding the door for him.

Crowley ducked through it and grumbled the whole way to his flat which Aziraphale thought was rather unfair since Crowley had caused the problem in the first place. 

But, well, wasn't that just like Crowley?


	31. Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: continuation of break up AU started in Snow, same tags apply

Aziraphale buys him a plant.

Every time he sees Aziraphale, it seems he has another plant in his hands, stuffing it into Crowley's arms and saying things like _Something for you to take care of again. We need to restore that garden of yours._

Crowley takes every single one. And he tries to take care of them. He does. Some days are harder than others. The cold ones. The days where snow blankets the windows, the world.

But Aziraphale still wants to see him.

The week between Christmas and New Year's is filled with Aziraphale. Late night phone calls. Shared drinks. Dinner. Movies. It almost feels like Aziraphale missed him too, but the doubt in Crowley's mind is stronger than his hope and he pushes the possibility away uneasily. It hurts to linger on. Aziraphale had said friends. And Crowley wants that. He did.

He tells himself he still does.

Aziraphale is in Crowley's kitchen making something. He can hear the angel humming tunelessly, the sound echoing in the snow muffled flat. Crowley's sitting on the couch and his chest hurts. It hurts worse than it has since that awful day two years ago when Aziraphale stormed out. The dull ache is gone only to be replaced by the maw of a wound, fresh and hungry. Crowley is bleeding. Bleeding out. And he can't stop.

Aziraphale reappears in front of him and then there is a cup of hot chocolate in his hands, steaming and burning his palms. He feels like he can't hold it so he doesn't. The cup shatters on his stone floor, hot liquid bathing his feet, shards of ceramic scattering over them.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale cries and then he's by his side, trying to collect the broken cup and Crowley can't stand it for another moment.

"I can't do this, Aziraphale," Crowley says. He can't believe he says it. Words words words. Useless words.

Aziraphale is on his knees, a broken ceramic mug in his hands, when he looks up at Crowley. "What?" 

His voice is shaking.

"I don't want to be friends. I can't be around you and pretend - pretend I don't _feel_."

Aziraphale puts the broken mug on the coffee table carefully and he's turning away, turning away and Crowley regrets everything because this hurts too. But what doesn't? This will hurt less. In the long run. Cauterize the wound. Cut off the limb. Save yourself.

"I thought -"

Aziraphale sounds like he might cry and Crowley fists his hands on his knees, reminds himself this is better, gathers his resolve. The words are coming easier now and Crowley, once he starts talking, seems to be unable to stop. "It's a big world. We don't have to be in each other's."

Aziraphale turns back, eyes blazing, and Crowley shrinks. But Aziraphale doesn't shout. Instead he shrinks too, tears falling. Once upon a time it would have broken Crowley to see this, but he thinks he's fallen apart enough. Unfixable. Nothing left to break except the body. Time for that too, he supposes.

"I made a mistake, Crowley," Aziraphale says, voice thick as he swipes at his eyes. 

Crowley wavers. 

"Maybe some time?" Aziraphale offers and it's so strange to hear desperation in his voice. "Just some time to think. I - I don't want to just give up. I came back here for you."

Crowley's resolve starts to crumble. It's what he wanted to hear. It's what he'd hoped for. "But your shop..."

"Always you."

Crowley's hands hurt from how hard he's pushing his nails into his palms.

Aziraphale reaches out and places a hand over his shaking fists, unfurls them. "I'll go. But I'll be back. Darling. Dearest."

The endearments are unpracticed, choked out, stuttered. Crowley is utterly unprepared for them. _Love. Darling. Dearheart. Dearest._

Aziraphale squeezes his hand and disappears.

In the silence of his apartment, Crowley falls apart.

**

[Next Chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51971524#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbc in final chapter  
> ngl i think i might have ripped my heart out here but oh well


	32. Auld Lang Syne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: continuation of break up AU started in Snow, same tags apply.  
> auld lang syne aka for old times' sake

Aziraphale goes back to the shop. It feels strange. More like home than any other place even if he's only lived there for a fraction of his existence. But it's the place he's settled. The place he and Crowley finally came together. The place where _they_ settled. Once upon a time.

He goes through the motions of making cocoa by hand and then leaves it on the counter. His mouth is dry and his throat is too tight. He feels ill. 

_I can't do this_.

Aziraphale feels selfish, obtuse, the worst kind of person. How could he have thought proximity would be enough? Returning here and simply waiting for Crowley to make the first move. The way Crowley always had. He's been a fool.

Falling into his desk chair, he closes his eyes and listens to the familiar way it creaks under his weight. This is all so familiar. Easy. But not everything can be easy. 

When the world almost ended, shouldn't he have learned that there are certain things - difficult things - worth fighting for?

He sits up, lean forward, stares at the mess of papers on his desk and makes a decision.

**

Crowley curls under a blanket and closes his eyes. The couch is uncomfortable but he doesn't want to get up. It's night and he should be sleeping but he hasn't been able to rest since he kicked Aziraphale out two days ago, too busy spending every hour alternating between feelings of grief and righteousness.

He knows the riot inside him will quiet and fade into nothingness. Like most things these days.

The air shifts and he knows he's no longer alone. A sense of warmth overtakes him. Cinnamon. Brandy. Cocoa.

Aziraphale.

"I didn't think you meant it," Crowley says, staring at the ceiling, thinking not looking at Aziraphale will keep his heart together for another second.

"What?"

"That you'd come back."

He hears the rustle of cloth, Aziraphale moving. 

He turns his head and looking at Aziraphale hurts as much as he thought it would. 

"Crowley, I'm sorry."

He sits up and rubs at his eyes, an old exhaustion is creeping in. "For what?"

"Leaving," Aziraphale says. Crowley looks at him, really looks at him, sees the set of his shoulders, the shine of his eyes. He's upset and trying not to be. "I regretted it every day."

Nausea rises in Crowley's stomach, viscous and choking. "Then why did you do it?"

Aziraphale's hands are fluttering, moving from belly to side to chest. Nerves. "Haven't you ever been afraid, Crowley?"

 _All the time_ , he doesn't say.

"I was afraid. Terribly afraid of what I'd forgive you for. Because it felt like I could forgive you anything and that terrified me."

Crowley stares and stares and somewhere a clock is ticking towards something new.

"Give me a chance to make it up to you. For old times' sake."

Crowley clenches his teeth against a renewed wave of doubt and hope and awful awful joy. Aziraphale reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box. A small one. The sort of box people hope for on New Year's Eve. He places it carefully on the coffee table in front of Crowley. An offering. _Take this if you like_.

"I had this made two years ago. I thought we could - you know, the human way. Because all those words they say to each other, I feel them too. And it's not enough to make up for the fact that I left when you needed me, but it's a promise that I'll never do it again."

Crowley gapes at him. There's an odd humming in his ears, growing in intensity.

"Maybe friends doesn't work because we both want too much. But, Crowley, darling," and Aziraphale slips into the seat next to him and takes his hand, "Whatever you want, I want you to have it. I want to give it to you."

Crowley stares at the place where their hands touch, Aziraphale's warm hand entangled with his. He - he -

"For old times' sake," he muses. That hope is still there, glowing and hot to the touch, but he tries not to shy away.

"And maybe new ones," Aziraphale says, grip tightening.

Joy can be a terrible thing. It can hurt and crush you over and over and over again like a wave breaking against rocks.

Crowley picks up the box. Opens it.

The clock strikes midnight.

A new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year to everyone reading this. thank you for sticking through the 31 days, through its ups and downs, for all your comments, and your support. this was all an experiment in style, dedication, and creativity, and I know coming out of this I have a few more WIPs than i intended but it was worth it for the ride!
> 
> <3


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